Aftermath
by Asidian
Summary: Not even a year after Al receives his new body, Ed requests a mission that will take him far from his brother's side. When things go terribly wrong, they must pick up the pieces together. (Elricest. Ed torture. Angst. Possible squick.)
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This fic would -not- leave me alone. I'd been toying with the idea for some time, and then one night at work, it just… wrote itself. In my head. And I was sitting there, going "Please stay until I get home. -Please- stay until I get home." So, yeah. This'll be a multi-parter.

It's my first time trying Roy, btw… And even though he'll probably only show up in the first chapter, I'm unreasonably worried. Is he… okay?

Warnings: Elricest. Bad Things happening to Ed. Probably language.

* * *

Aftermath

* * *

"Alphonse-kun," the Fuhrer greeted, watching carefully as the boy opened the door and let himself in. "Good afternoon."

As always, there was a spark of hope in the younger Elric's expression, and it dug its claws into him as it had every day for the past eight months. The slightly vulnerable look in those large, bronze eyes and the determined set of the boy's mouth were enough to make Roy wish that he could postpone this meeting even one day further.

But he had set for himself what he felt to be a reasonable timetable, and it had been perhaps too long already. To make the boy keep waiting would be cruel- not that telling him, the man reflected bitterly, would be kind.

"Good afternoon, Fuhrer." Alphonse had stopped calling him Colonel by accident after the first week, and Roy suspected that, had he not been so distressed early on, even those small mistakes would have been corrected by the boy's meticulous attention to detail.

Roy hesitated a moment, looking at the layers of hope and worry in those bronze eyes. "…you may want to take a seat, Alphonse-kun."

The boy stepped forward to grasp the back of the chair with a sense of enthusiasm that he couldn't quite conceal, and was speaking even before he'd settled himself in the seat. "Is there word, then? What's happened?"

Roy took a long breath, deep in and then out, before he spoke again. "Alphonse-kun… I haven't been entirely up front with you."

"You… haven't?" The boy's face was painfully easy to read; the expression announced quite clearly that the idea had never so much as occurred to him, and Roy watched as he turned it over for the first time, evidently uncertain as to whether the announcement was a good thing or a bad one, given the situation. For a moment, the younger Elric struggled for words, plainly at a loss for something to say.

"No," Roy conceded, the words heavy on his tongue. "I haven't." Reaching for the stack of papers that he'd removed from his file cabinet in preparation for Alphonse's visit, the man leaned over the desk to hand them to the boy. "Actually, we've been in contact with your brother's kidnappers since the day after he was taken."

It looked as though someone had punched the boy; his mouth was open slightly, face gone suddenly very white. Visibly, he struggled to respond, eyes wounded and shocked- not angry. Not yet.

"Their demands were unreasonable," he continued, sliding a copy of said demands across the top of the desk and toward the boy. "They requested government approval and funding for alchemical experimentation on living human beings." Calm grey eyes watched as Alphonse's gaze slid over the paper, growing wider with each passing second. "I couldn't grant that."

"So you told them _no_?" The anger still hadn't surfaced yet, but Roy could see the sparks of it, building under a layer of bewilderment. "They have my _brother_!"

"Intelligence officers were dispatched to the area immediately to investigate for an experimental facility," the man told him evenly. "They found nothing. Attempts to discover the source of the communications also failed."

Roy could have added that he'd poured an unreasonable amount of his manpower into the task for the better part of the time that Fullmetal had been missing. Could have recounted the fact that he'd missed vital opportunities to force some semblance of stability onto the newly formed government due to the time he'd personally spent on the case. But in all honesty, he doubted that Alphonse would care very much.

"A month and a half ago," Roy continued, careful to keep his voice level, "We stopped receiving correspondence from your brother's captors. Previously, they had been delivering an update daily." The boy was wearing that look again, as though someone had struck him. "The papers in your lap are the complete log of those correspondences."

The man waited as Alphonse picked up the first sheet, watched the boy's face as he began to read. He recalled the first time that he'd seen the words, himself, remembered the pit of horror that had formed at the bottom of his stomach.

_The Fullmetal Alchemist has been taken into custody_, it had read, tone as abrupt and simple as that of the rest of the many, many messages since. _A list of our demands is attached. To encourage cooperation, a daily status report._

He hadn't understood, at first, what to expect- and now, watching Alphonse, he saw his past confusion mirrored in the lightly furrowed brow, the slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips. And then the boy was pressing on, reading for the first time a note that Roy had seen enough times to know by heart.

_Removed the subject's limbs. Bound arm and hand. Corrected attempts to resist with physical dissuasion. Sedative needed to induce silence._

"Physical… dissuasion?" Alphonse murmured aloud. By the look on the boy's face, that of just-dawning horror, he hadn't even been aware that he'd spoken, reaching already to turn the page and see what the next day's correspondence had contained.

As he read, Alphonse's face drained of color, the pain in his eyes almost a tangible presence in the room. Roy wondered, thick with sympathy for the boy, whether he'd looked the same as he'd read the words for the first time; certainly, he hadn't felt so very different than the younger Elric seemed now.

When Alphonse began flipping desperately back through pages, the man knew precisely the section that he'd gotten to, remembered doing the same himself, checking, just to be sure, even though he knew, knew he hadn't been mistaken.

_Fed the subject._ It hadn't been written until the fifth correspondence.

The pages turned faster, now; when Alphonse was through nearly twenty, he began skimming, eyes flashing across the words so quickly that he must only have been catching pieces of what was written. His hands were shaking, expression the most devastated representation of human emotion that Roy had ever seen- and he had seen many.

After thirty, the boy began crying, though Roy suspected that he didn't realize it; the tears were falling quietly, despite the fact that Alphonse's shoulders were shaking with what may or may not have been suppressed sobs.

He didn't finish reading.

Alphonse wasn't quite halfway when he stopped abruptly, throwing the log from him as though it was something that burned. It landed on the desk, paperclip ensuring that it remained unscathed, and the boy was beside it a moment later, clenching the wood on either side of it so hard that his knuckles faded to white.

"So what's changed?" The desperate edge to the younger Elric's tone forced a spike of pain through the man's heart. "Something's happened, hasn't it?" The boy's voice was unsteady; his cheeks weren't pale any longer, but flushed from the tears. "It _must_ have- otherwise you'd just have kept it a secret!" There was accusation behind the words, and were Roy a weaker man he might have flinched under the combination of the tone and the knowledge that Alphonse was, in fact, quite right.

"I'm telling you now because…" And here he hesitated; this was the part he'd been dreading, perhaps more than the rest. "There have been riots in several cities to the north, and an insurgency has sprung up to the west. Alphonse-kun, I can't afford to dedicate the manpower to this case any longer."

There was a moment of stunned silence before the noise escaped him, small and quite forlorn in the spacious office. It might have been a sob, or perhaps a strangled sound of rage; Roy suspected that what it was wasn't particularly important. Another followed, louder than the first, but Alphonse bit the rest off forcibly, digging his teeth into his lower lip. And when he raised wet bronze eyes to Roy's face, there was no longer just anguish; outrage boiled below the surface, hot and sharp and plain.

Slowly, deliberately, the boy moved to pick up the sheaf of papers that he'd discarded so recently, adding to it the list of demands that had been passed him earlier. When he spoke, his tone was savage, quite at odds with the polite words themselves. "If you don't mind then, _Fuhrer_, I'd like to investigate on my own."

"I thought you might." He'd expected Alphonse's anger, certainly- deserved it, probably. But neither fact made it any easier to face. "Which is why I'm prepared to offer you a contract position. If you agree, I can see to it that you receive a military grant in order to pursue…"

But Alphonse wasn't listening any longer. He was sparing the new Fuhrer one final look dark with loathing, was clutching the sheaf of paper possessively to his chest as he stalked his way to the door of the room.

As it slammed shut behind him, Roy had the chance to reflect that, in all his years of putting up with Fullmetal's tantrums, the boy had never managed to approach the level of hatred poured into his little brother's last glare. But then, the man considered, if it had been Alphonse taken, he suspected that he'd have seen a whole new side of Edward's temper.

Alone in his office, the Fuhrer regretted once more that he hadn't tried harder to dissuade Fullmetal from taking the mission.

end chapter 1--


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Dear gods, this part wrote like a shopping list. ticking off points Okay… I need to get this in, and this, and this…

Uhm… someone call me on it if my timeline is off; I changed things a few times, and don't know if I got all of them, so there might be discrepancies drifting about. Also… does it -fit- together? I've got this awful feeling that I tried to force too much and ended up with something ungainly.

Warnings: Elricest. Bad Things happening to Ed.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 2

* * *

_One year later._

He'd passed through this town once, sometime during early summer.

The heat then had been enough to make him miserable, hitting him full in the face as he stepped off the train and onto the aging platform. Not even a bench had been set out for the convenience of travelers- just a small, wooden sign that looked as though it had been carved by someone with a pocket knife and too much spare time.

"Welcome to Rush," it had said- and beyond it, Alphonse had been able to see the whole town, a clustered handful of houses that lined the dusty main street. He recalled having been disappointed- remembered thinking that none of the buildings here were _big_ enough to conceal an experimental facility.

Regardless, he'd showed the picture to anyone that would look, repeated the words that he'd learned by heart: "That's right, Edward Elric. He's my brother." The next part had changed since the last time Ed's birthday came and went, but Alphonse was familiar with it, too, now. "He's seventeen- bright blonde hair, gold eyes. Unusually short."

At first, the boy had hesitated to add the last words of the description- thought that, when his brother found out about it, he'd never hear the end. That was before he'd decided that, much as Ed hated the fact, it was _true_. And if height was what people noticed when they met his brother, maybe they'd recall it well enough to be able to give him information.

But no one had seen the Fullmetal Alchemist- not here, and not in any of the other dozens of cities that he'd visited.

Every time he showed the picture, though, a part of him still expected to see Ed pushing through a crowd of people, demanding to know _who_ had dared call him so short that it was unusual. And for all the countless times he'd been disappointed over the course of the past year, he still felt the sting when the description failed to yield his brother, eyes flashing and ready to make Al regret the unfortunate choice of words.

Today was different. The picture of Ed stayed tucked into the inner pocket of his coat; he didn't stop passers-by to show it, didn't ask about a young man with striking eyes and a sharp temper. Today, he had a purpose.

He'd returned on a snatch of a rumor that he'd caught changing trains at a station near Central.

The woman had been middle aged, born and raised in Rush, and if she'd thought it odd that the intent, polite boy had approached her to interrupt the conversation, she hadn't mentioned it. She'd answered his questions kindly- "Some folks at home're just spreading stories about the old mine outside town being haunted. Imagine that- silly things, believing in ghosts."- and wished him luck. It wasn't until he'd thanked her and turned to go that he wondered whether she remembered him passing through the little town on a search for his missing brother.

Regardless, though, the woman's words had set Alphonse's thoughts to turning- because when he'd passed through Rush that summer, no one had mentioned a mine. And even if the town _didn't_ have any buildings big enough to hold an experimental facility… well. Maybe there was someplace else, after all.

And so he'd bought a new ticket, let his next train leave without him. Ignored the part of his mind that pointed out quite rationally how unlikely he was to find anything. That using a mine- abandoned or otherwise- as a laboratory would be difficult and unsanitary, the kind of plan that only some sort of lunatic could conceive.

Exactly the sort of lunatic, he'd assured himself as he boarded the train to Rush, that would spend eight months torturing a teenaged boy.

And besides, Alphonse reflected grimly- he was running out of places to look.

* * *

The sole inn of the little town was as quiet as the rest of it, the main room crowded with squat, comfortable-looking furniture. And the heating, Alphonse reflected to himself, was broken- assuming that the building had any to begin with. Since the moment he'd stepped off the train, he'd been wondering how this could possibly be the same place he recalled from summer; the heat had been sweltering then, but now he was shivering through his jacket.

It wasn't even late autumn.

The innkeep had been half asleep when arrived, roused when the boy coughed discreetly to attract his attention. It was hard to blame him for dozing, though; Alphonse's train had run late, so he wasn't certain what time it was, but the air was still and quiet with the dark of early morning.

"Here you go, son," the man told him, sliding the key across the counter with a scrape of metal on wood. He reached to take it absently, pausing only briefly to glance at the number two painted onto the flat surface of its head before mumbling his thanks and heading for the hallway.

Room two was at the far end of the building, nestled by a back exit whose door's wood had warped so badly that it refused to close all the way. Alphonse found it easily- it was one of only ten numbered rooms, after all- letting himself in and setting his suitcase in the entryway.

He refused to consider what he may or may not find tomorrow as he lay his coat down on the small table beside the window, refused to let his mind wander as stripped to shower, shivering with the cold of the night. But when he settled himself into the room's tiny, shabby bed for what he hoped would be a few hours' sleep and a chance to get warm, the thoughts rose up to drag him under.

The worry came first, as it had every day since the Fuhrer had told him the whole truth behind his brother's kidnapping- great, dark claws that ate away at his chest until it hurt to breathe. He tried not to wonder why the correspondences had stopped coming, tried not to think that his brother was still in pain somewhere, was suffering as he made his clumsy way from city to city, trying in vain to reach him. Or worse: that he'd died waiting for Al to get there, died before Mustang had even told him, alone and terrified and hurting.

Squeezing his eyes closed and willing himself to sleep, Alphonse mouthed words of comfort to himself like a charm to ward against fear, pulling the blankets in tighter.

They were Winry's words, bizarrely enough; after he'd brought the news to Riesenburg, she'd cried as hard as he had, clung to his neck and sobbed like he'd not seen since her parents died. And then, when the fit had passed and he'd said that he was going to find Ed, she'd fixed him with a blue-eyed stare that was equal parts grief and determination. "You'd better," she'd told him, wiping the tears away roughly. "Cause wherever he is, your brother's too damn stubborn to give up waiting for you."

Alphonse hadn't had the heart to show her the papers.

As always, though, the remembered reassurance helped; sleep began to creep in at the edges slowly, the burning sensation at the corners of his eyes fading as his mind clutched that hope desperately near. Ed was too brave to give up, too strong to let himself get killed. Too stubborn to go without seeing his little brother one more time.

And gradually, the more painful thoughts were leeched away, leaving his mind to wander without the sting of regret that came with full waking, leaving him free to remember for memory's sake.

It had been Winry, he recalled with a distant, edge-of-sleep detachment, that had convinced him to talk to Ed in the first place.

In that long-ago time when the most he'd needed to worry was that his growing interest wasn't entirely proper, he'd spent weeks determining whether he should mention it at all. When he'd finally caved in, it had been their childhood friend that he'd turned to for advice.

Winry had been both straightforward and utterly unsurprised by his confession- a fact that had led Alphonse to the unsettling conclusion that perhaps he hadn't been so subtle as he'd intended. Her advice had been simple: if he didn't spell it out plainly, Ed would never catch on. After all, the girl had pointed out, he might be a genius at alchemy, but Edward Elric certainly was _slow_ when it came to other things.

And so he'd spent the day cooking, more to keep his mind off what he planned to do than from any real hunger; the nervous fluttering in his stomach had precluded any thoughts of food, and by the time he'd finished, Al realized that he hadn't been cooking for himself, after all. Because the meal had ended up being all of his brother's favorites, whether he'd planned it consciously or not.

He'd been setting the first bowl out on the table as Ed had walked in the door.

"You cooked?" he asked, and from the depths of somewhere, Alphonse realized that at some point he'd stopped remembering and drifted off to begin dreaming. He couldn't feel the bed beneath him any more, didn't know anything but the hard curve of the dish in his hand and the plush of their carpet under bare feet.

Grinning nervously, Al nodded as the older boy took off his coat, dropped it in a pile by the door. "I made stew," he agreed, distracted enough to forget to scold about leaving a mess.

"Great," Ed answered fervently. "I'm starved." He'd deposited himself at the table and was helping himself before Alphonse had a chance to bring out the rest of the dishes; by the time he'd settled himself across from his brother, the boy was already reaching for his second helping.

"Today set some kinda _record_ for crappy days," the dream-Ed told him, mumbling around a mouthful of stew. "I made the mistake of stopping in to get those files Havoc dug up, and Mustang spotted me. Asshole's shipping me out east tomorrow on some mission he couldn't blackmail anyone else into taking."

Al stared, thoughts of what he'd meant to say fleeing as his brother's words sank in. "Tomorrow? But he promised you'd be able to stay close to Central from now on!"

"Yeah," the older boy agreed, reaching for a roll. "What a bitch, huh?" And he grinned, a lop-sided grin that was a bit sad.

The memory faded there, but the dream went on, shadowed images in which his brother returned from the mission bleeding and sobbing, broken.

And when Al woke shuddering two hours before dawn, he waited up for the sun; perched on one of the low stools by the room's small table, he hunched himself low against the chill of the early morning hours, fighting to bury himself in a text that proved no distraction at all.

end chapter 2--


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: It is 5 o'clock am. It is 5 o'clock am, I have just finished writing, and I have class soon. I am officially a moron.

And this fic is devouring all free time and independent will. Anything that demands that I go to the library and do -research- to get it right is just too goddamn presumptuous. wonders idly if folks can piece together what's going on yet, from this part

Warnings: Elricest. Language. Possible squick. Bad Things happening to Ed.

* * *

Aftermath- Ch. 3

* * *

Something ought to have bothered him. 

It was nestled, sharp and intrusive, just beneath his surface thoughts, and he knew, really, that he ought to be paying attention to it. Knew that it was important, if he could just make his mind focus for long enough to pick it apart and figure out why.

But there was an awful, screeching, _yowling_ sound somewhere nearby, and every time he managed to get his thoughts into some sort of a working order, the pain from the sheer volume of noise that it was making brought them shattering down around his ears.

Vaguely, Ed wondered if he could shut it up- attempted experimentally to lift himself, see if he could move to any position besides this one. Because the floor was hard and dirt and pressed against the side of his face, and he probably ought to care more about that, too, but he just couldn't seem to manage it.

But his real arm, when he shifted it, only shuddered weakly before collapsing, and the automail twitched once, vaguely, as he attempted to persuade it to move. He was just gathering himself to try again when the pain set in.

It came in a blinding mass of agony, a rolling wave that stole the breath from his lungs. Vaguely, he had the presence of mind to reflect that a limb that isn't even there shouldn't fucking _hurt_ so much- but then he was retching helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to keep still, because moving made it worse, moving made it _worse_ and he didn't think he could stand it anymore.

The sensation subsided slowly, slipping out bit by bit as he forced the muscles around the area to relax. And for a time, he simply lay still, panting and drained, too dazed to focus properly on much of anything.

When coherent thought began to drift back in over the buzzing in his ears, a part of him realized somewhat bitterly that the first thing he became aware of was the incessant _noise_.

Almost against his better judgment, the boy opened his eyes to narrowed slits.

The floor was there, stretching away to a rough wall not three feet from where he lay, but that wasn't what made his expression shift so quickly to one of bewilderment. It was the panicked stare that met him from behind grey bars that held his attention, eyes as shockingly golden as his own, wild and furious and terrified.

The creature yowled again, and began to pace awkwardly in its confined space; the tufts of its ears brushed the ceiling when it stood at full height, and it barely had room to turn, but it moved anyway, restless and agitated. Ed stared at it blankly for a time, even as his mind worked to convince him that something really should be bothering him.

He only became aware of the other sounds gradually- a soft scritching noise behind him, steady and unidentifiable, and a frenzied, erratic flapping. It sounded, Edward thought vaguely to himself, as though someone was shaking out clothing with a desperate abandon, and he nearly turned to see before he remembered that moving had proved a very bad idea indeed.

And so he watched the cat as it paced in its cage, stared dully at its stubby tail and at the sharp, lashing quality of its turns. The boy's thoughts were shuffling slowly about in his head, attempting to settle; the noise that the animal was making seemed not quite so intrusive any longer, and Ed considered, distantly, that it might have less to do with the volume and more to do with the fact that his head seemed to be fighting its way clear of… of… something.

The conclusion didn't come, and he watched idly for a moment longer, wondering why a part of his mind was insisting with some alarm that he ought to be every bit as panicked at the creature caged not far from him.

It was the voice that brought realization crashing home, that calm, interested, detached tone: "Are you prepared, Fullmetal boy?"

And he _knew_ suddenly, was aware that the little tracts in the dirt would be a part of something much larger, much more complex. Remembered, in fragments, struggling against the needle- remembered biting, drawing blood, meeting flesh with his fist, and then… a vague, disinterested confusion. Confusion, and a dragging sense of lethargy, and _that bastard had fucking drugged him again_!

He was surging upward bare seconds later, the last vestiges of the sedative swept away by the force of his anger. But moving was still a very bad idea indeed, and the sheer _hurt_ undercut the drive behind the attempt, left him doubled over, forehead pressed to the ground, breath coming in sobs.

And then the array glowed to life beneath him, and the agony of the automail was eclipsed by a new pain entirely.

* * *

Ed woke with a sob- a deep, shuddering, gasping sound that left him clinging desperately to reality in its wake. 

It was a _dream_ for fuck's sake, he told himself roughly, and almost moved to wrap his real arm around himself before remembering, with a shudder, that he shouldn't. He tugged the jacket draped over his bare shoulders closer instead, too caught up in the remnants of the nightmare to even be bitter that he couldn't wear it any longer. It didn't matter that it had really happened- didn't matter that he could still remember the depth of that pain, when he thought too hard about it. All that mattered, really, was that it wasn't going on _now_. That right _now_ was alright- a fact that he repeated to himself once, twice, three times, just to hear the sound of his own voice, hoarse and soft.

Nearby, the candle had burned down to a guttering pit of wax, the dim flicker all that kept the room from darkness. Its fading light cast shadows over the illustrations of the open books nearest him, black and white ink drawings labeled with small, neatly printed words: "Felis pardinus" and "Rhinopoma hardwickei". The rest of the small library formed untidy mounds on the floor; getting the volumes there had been a triumph that it took Ed three days to achieve, and he'd been too exhausted when he finished to care about putting them in any sort of order.

The earthen steps were still there, too, just as he'd transmuted them, leading up to the high shelves that lined the rough room. He hadn't bothered to return them to the dirt floor when he'd finished clawing his awkward way back down, hadn't bothered to do much of anything, in fact, but lie panting at the foot, eyes half-closed. Now they, too, were bathed in the wavering light of the dying flame- and he fixed them firmly in the sight of golden eyes, reminding himself quite forcefully that they were only there because he'd gotten _past_ this already, dammit.

But thinking it and believing it were two different things entirely- and when the candle light at last gave out, Ed remained crouched in the darkness, shaking.

* * *

Walking was difficult, now. 

At first, he'd tried to reattach the automail- but the attempt had left him unconscious from the pain, barely coherent enough when he woke to scrabble for the release mechanism before it could happen again.

Then he'd thought that a crutch might help. And so he'd made one from some of the metal lab equipment, had ignored the fact that it was clumsier than anything he'd transmuted since childhood, refused to acknowledge that if his alchemy was suffering, he had to be very weak indeed.

Edward had tried to make it work.

He'd needed the support of a bench just to stand, had fumbled awkwardly just to get a _hold_ of the thing, had tried and failed and given up on the crutch and then tried again, sobbing with frustration all the while. If only his fucking _fingers_ would work, he could do it. If only he could just-

But he couldn't, and in the end he'd shoved hard with his good leg, had sprawled himself over the wood of the bench on his stomach before pushing himself to stand from there.

It wasn't until the moment that he'd tottered awkwardly on one leg, hooked his thumb around a bar on the crutch to keep it steady, and attempted to tuck it under his arm that he'd realized how logistically impossible the effort was.

He'd screamed then, pure frustration and rage and agony, had thrown the crutch from him and not noticed when he collapsed awkwardly back to the floor. Ed hadn't cared that he'd cried after promising himself not to. He hadn't cared about anything but the fact that only his thumb and forefinger would curl when he attempted to make a fist, that when he tried to vent his helpless fury on the floor, what was left of his arm made a leathery flapping sound.

In the end, he'd made himself a new leg. Or something to serve as one, rather.

Really, it wasn't much more than an empty space for him to work the remainder of his half-limb into, a crutch that attached to the remaining stump. And it was _awkward_ to wear it over the automail port, bulky and strange, an arrangement that he had to check periodically, to ensure that it hadn't begun to slip as he walked. What's more, he needed to watch his feet as he moved, didn't have the nerve attachments to control the false limb.

And so walking was difficult- a slow, shuffling affair that required concentration. A step with his good leg, a lifting of the false limb, sight check to make sure that it was firm against the floor, that the half-crutch was still in place- and then the weight shift, arm trailing along the wall to help support some of it before beginning again.

When he thought he could get away with it, Ed tried not to move around much- but the library was in a separate room from the lab, and so he had to make his painstaking way back and forth between the two every time he hit a hitch and needed to look something up. It didn't help, the boy suspected, that he was always so exhausted; several times, he'd fallen in the dim mine shaft and simply lay still, waiting until his limbs stopped shaking and he felt strong enough to move on.

He could only suppose that the weakness was from malnutrition. After all, his wounds had begun to heal, and though he'd reopened several with his attempts to maneuver himself about the lab, the bleeding hadn't been particularly heavy. Food, on the other hand, had been hard to come by; Ed's last decent meal had been nearly two weeks ago by his count, just after the cave-in.

The boy had been ecstatic to discover a small stash of dried biscuits hoarded in a tin in the library, apparently for snacking purposes. He'd eaten enough to make himself sick and been so unreasonably grateful that, for the better part of an hour, he'd left off hoping that the fucker who brought him here had died an excruciating death, crushed under a ton of rock. Slowly.

It was some time later before the part of his mind that still had some hold on standards had managed to be horrified that he'd considered it a decent meal.

Things had gone downhill since. In desperation, Ed had turned at last to the few remaining specimens not buried when the majority of the lab was destroyed, repeating to himself firmly that it was no different than catching his own food while traveling. And besides, he'd reasoned- even if he hadn't been there, they'd have died locked in the cages anyway with no one to bring them food or water.

When the thought had occurred to him to wonder whether this counted as cannibalism, he'd thrust it aside violently and spent the rest of the day refusing even to consider the notion.

But by now the last of the animals were long gone, and there was nothing else to _have_, and so the boy willed his limbs not to tremble as he made his way down the darkened corridor, golden eyes trained on the bottom of his crutch. Silently, he promised himself that he'd find the nearest town in a few days, that he'd buy an obscene amount of whatever he wanted and eat himself sick again.

But just- he couldn't go like this. In a few days he'd do it, after he'd set things right, but… not like this.

And so he shuffled awkwardly down the corridor- step, look, shift, step, look, shift- so intent upon his own thoughts that he utterly missed it at first.

Only when Ed glanced up from his own leg did he catch sight of the beam of light, the dusty air of the mine in its path turned into a pale stream filled with flecks of gold. For an endless moment he froze, pressed against the wall, heart beating so loudly that he was sure the sound echoed in the mine shaft.

There had been a cave-in… hadn't there? The man had really _died_… hadn't he?

If Ed didn't move, maybe he'd just pass by- maybe he'd be heading the other way. Maybe- maybe he wouldn't notice, or Ed could scratch an array into the wall before he _got_ here, or-

But the beam of the flashlight flicked briefly down the opposite corridor before turning his way, and the boy felt his breath shudder to a stop. It skimmed along the wall across from him, dipped onto the floor, and then- brilliance, in his eyes, blinding him. He couldn't block it with his arm, couldn't take the support away from his half-limb, and so he squeezed his eyes shut instead, waited with his heart pounding in his throat for what felt like an eternity.

And then the word reached his ears, soft and intent and so utterly, utterly impossible that it made his heart ache.

Because even in his _best_ dreams, Ed had given up imagining that anyone could find him here, and for it to be-

The flashlight beam wavered, came forward just a bit further.

"_Brother_?" Al asked again, and the world slid out from under him. 

end part 3--


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: This part was all… difficult. I'm not sure if description was sufficient, in one part particularly. fidgets, prods fic

Er. In any case, warnings: Elricest. Language. Angst. Bad Things happening to Ed. Possible squick.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 4

* * *

"_Brother_?" Alphonse asked again, the tightness in his throat making it hard to speak, let alone breathe. 

Because the boy standing pressed up against the wall _was_ Edward.

Filthy and painfully thin, unbound hair falling tangled into his face and past his shoulders- but it was his _brother_, and for a moment, Al's mind wouldn't process anything more complicated that that.

And then Ed shuddered, swayed- tipped forward, and rational thought abandoned him entirely.

It was instinct that moved him, instinct that washed the shock away and urged the frantic pace that closed the distance between them. He was falling to his knees before the boy seconds later, dropping the flashlight to the ground beside him as he joined his brother in the dirt of the mine shaft.

He didn't care that the beam of light spun wildly before slowing to a stop, didn't care that he couldn't see Ed's face for the darkness. All that mattered was that both arms were free to wrap around narrow shoulders, both hands empty to clutch in the worn, shredded fabric of a familiar red coat. He was close enough to feel the trembling in his brother's shoulders, to hear the tiny hitches in his breathing- and then Ed was leaning into him, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck.

"…Al?" The word was soft, so uncertain and full of hope that it made him ache inside. There was no pretense in the tone, nothing but naked, just-dawning relief and the unvoiced plea for an answer.

"I'm here, brother," he said, as gently as he could. Carefully, he forced himself to relinquish the grip on Ed's coat with one hand so that he could run it slowly over the older boy's back.

The quiet, choked noise that he received in response made him pause mid-motion, stilled by a brief flash of alarm that he'd caused unintentional pain. But then his brother was pressing in close again, so desperate to get near that Al had to catch him as he overbalanced, had to move his other hand to Ed's waist so that he could help to support his weight.

And when the touch came at his side, tentative and uncertain, as Ed raised his arm to return the embrace, he was too caught up in his brother's presence to notice that the limb did little more than apply pressure.

"It's okay," he heard himself say, and was glad that his voice only shook a little. Now was not the time, his mind pointed out, to get emotional. He had to be strong for Ed's sake, had to hold himself together for long enough to get his brother to town.

And with that thought, realization gripped him with icy fingers: if the older boy _was_ here, it stood to reason that whoever had done this to him still was, too. Raising bronze eyes to peer warily into the darkness beyond the glow of the flashlight, Alphonse strained to catch sight of movement. "It's okay now, brother," he said again, just as softly- but there was something fierce in it now, protective.

Ed's only response was a peculiar, muffled keening noise, and Al started as it reached his ears, leaving off his survey of the area to stare down at the boy in his arms.

Because his brother shouldn't be making that noise. Nothing living had any right to make a sound with that much pain in it, and it was his _brother_, shaking and hurting and sounding for all the world like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, the tightness in his throat was too much to speak through. Alphonse wanted to _say_ something, to promise with all his heart and until his voice gave out that it was alright, that nothing would ever hurt the older boy again, but the words just wouldn't come. And so he reassured by touch instead.

Slowly, carefully, Al began to stroke the boy's back- cautious and gentle, a motion that he hoped was soothing- but the trembling was giving way to great, gasping sobs, the collar of his shirt growing warm and damp. And then abruptly, rational thought was abandoned after all, left washed away by the pain in his chest and the stinging in his eyes.

Later, Alphonse wouldn't be able to remember how long he held his brother and cried, wouldn't remember anything but the wrenching, bittersweet _sharpness_ of the moment. But when at last he'd cried himself out and Ed had subsided to little hitching shudders in his arms, his legs had gone numb as he pulled back to look at the older boy's face.

His brother was in shadow; the flashlight beam faced the other wall, left him straining to see details in the dim lighting. But the expression there was gratitude, was hope, and the beginnings of a shaky smile tugged at the corner of the older boy's lips.

And then Ed lifted his eyes to meet Alphonse's gaze, and he felt his mouth go dry. The return smile that he'd been forming froze on his lips, forgotten as the beginnings of an awful suspicion began to settle within him.

Because as they rose to meet him, Ed's eyes glowed a pale, iridescent green in the dim light of the mine shaft: an animal's eyes in darkness.

"Al?" his brother asked again, and the expression was quickly shifting; there was uncertainty there, now, and Alphonse knew that he needed to stop staring, needed to give Ed his most reassuring smile to calm him. But he couldn't seem to move, couldn't seem to do much of anything- not when his thoughts were scrambling to insist that they knew now, knew very, very well why Ed's kidnappers had stopped demanding _permission_ to experiment on humans.

He saw it on his brother's face the moment that Ed realized. Saw those eyes widen- green at just the one angle, but when he turned they were the _right_ color, gold darkened nearly to brown by the lack of light- saw the rush of panic that flooded his features before the older boy ducked his head, hiding his face behind the messy fall of tangled hair.

"Brother," he breathed, and the word was weak, shaky. "Brother, did they…?" But he couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't _say_ it, and so he sought to confirm it with his eyes instead.

And for the first time, he really _looked_ at Edward. Saw the way that he was crouched huddled with the jacket draped over his shoulders, that he was shirtless underneath despite the cold. Realized at last that his automail was missing; a makeshift half-crutch had worked its way free of his leg, was lying forgotten on the dirt floor near the flashlight.

He took in the awkward way that Ed held his real arm away from his body and the sudden, reflexive motion as he shifted to keep Al from getting a closer look. And among the tangled golden hair, the errant, fly-away strand that his brother could never manage to tame had gained companions- two of them, shorter, on either side of his head. They were black.

"Brother," he tried again, and was surprised to discover that the word didn't betray the trepidation in his heart. He kept his tone gentle, voice low, as he reached a hand to remove the red fabric from his brother's shoulders. "Let me see."

But Ed flinched backward, met his gaze with pale green eyes that were bitter and frightened, the self-deprecation there an expression that Alphonse had seen too, too often. And when his brother's gaze skittered away again to fix on the beam from the flashlight before speaking, the words made Al's breath catch in his throat.

"I think he fucked it up," Ed was saying, voice rough- and Al couldn't tell whether that was because he'd been crying or because he wasn't used to speaking anymore. "Cause it's not _there_ all the way… you know?"

And then his brother's eyes met his again, a familiar, determined edge to the expression. "But that's alright- it'll be easier to fix, this way. Less to pull apart." But there was something vulnerable behind the words, and when Ed grinned at him to bear a mouthful of tiny, jagged teeth, there was something so _hurt_ behind the smile that Alphonse couldn't even begin to think of all the ways that it was wrong.

"Brother," Al said again, and this time his voice was tense, slightly unsteady. "Let me _see_."

And then those eyes were on him, green to gold and back again as Ed watched him with a wary uncertainty; he could see the fear in the set of his brother's lips, knew from the way that he hunched his shoulders exactly how terrified the older boy was to agree. But the nod came anyway, shaking and slight, with words of warning: "It's… pretty bad."

The arm that reached to pull the jacket from his shoulders moved as though the air had weighed it down; he wasn't aware when the red fabric pooled around his brother's waist or of the fact that the older boy's breathing was coming in tiny, rapid gasps. He didn't stop to think it now, but he'd realize later that in all likelihood it was Ed's fear of his reaction that caused the terror pooling in his brother's eyes.

And Ed was right, a part of Alphonse's mind had time to think as the older boy presented what was left of his arm for inspection. Whoever did this hadn't finished.

Because it wasn't an arm, exactly- not anymore. But nor was it really a wing.

He could see what was supposed to have happened- could see where it had begun in his brother's smallest finger, where the bone had lengthened and thinned and _grown_ in ways that it shouldn't have. It was the longest of them- a foot more than it ought to have been, Al's mind noted distantly, feeling the creeping numb of shock, and hinged far, far too steeply downward- but the others had tried to follow suit, all the way to his brother's thumb. That was the only thing unchanged, it seemed- his thumb, so normal against the rest of the digits that it was nearly out of place.

And a wing, of course, couldn't be a wing with open spaces- and so they'd closed.

A bat, Alphonse's mind supplied helpfully, from that vague, disconcerted place that it had settled, and carefully he reached to touch. The skin stretched loose between his brother's fingers was warm and soft, leathery, and as he moved to explore it with his own hand, unaware of the distress that the attention caused Ed, he ran across the reason for the older boy's state of half-dress.

Because the space between the pinky and his back had been filled in as well, a folded half-wing large enough to make anything with a sleeve logistically impossible.

It was almost a full minute before Alphonse had finished- nearly twice that before he'd managed to get the new information settled in a position that didn't leave him reeling with shock. But when he spoke, the voice was gentle, and firm, and matter-of-fact.

"Come on, brother," Al said softly, "Let's get you out of here."

end chapter 4--


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: I keep falling behind updating this... bwa, I'm horrible. Sorry, everyone- and much thanks to those who've been leaving comments! -sunny grin-

Warnings: Elricest. Angst. Language. Bad Things happening to Ed. Possible squick.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 5

* * *

"Brother," Al began again, carefully. "I wish you'd be more reasonable about this."

Ed ignored him, leaned hard against the younger boy's body, and positioned the false limb so that he could take another shuffling step forward.

When a moment had passed and there was still no response, Alphonse began speaking again. "It's getting dark, you know." He paused to see if that warranted a reply, only venturing on when his brother remained silent. "And it's still quite a ways to town."

The older boy faltered, muttered a curse under his breath- shifted forward again stubbornly. Gold eyes flickered briefly up to Al's face before they fell to watching the ground again. "We just _took_ a break."

And they had. After making desperately slow progress for most of the afternoon, Ed stubbornly refusing to rest or allow himself to be carried, the older of the brothers had stopped quite suddenly and announced that he needed to sit down for a few minutes. He'd clung awkwardly to Alphonse's arm as he lowered himself to the ground, settling on a small patch of grass in what was otherwise a rocky landscape- and, a moment later, insisted that the other boy join him.

The stop hadn't been prompted by the exhaustion that made his leg tremble with every step, nor even by Al's soft, persistent appeals for him not to push himself too hard. Actually, the true reason had been quite entwined with the fact that the sky, as they'd walked, had grown a steadily deeper shade of blue, the sun's light inching toward orange as it neared the horizon.

And that particular sunset, spent leaning comfortably against his brother's shoulder and with a gentle, steadying arm around his waist, was the first that Ed had seen in nearly two years.

Alphonse hadn't said anything, not even when he'd felt warms tracts of tears begin to creep down his face and been too enraptured by the sky to bother hiding them. And when at last Ed had declared himself ready to go on, the younger boy had accepted the roughly muttered "Better now- fucking hard to _walk_ on this thing," without comment, helping him to his feet instead.

He seemed to be making up for the silence now, Ed reflected with a certain amount of wry amusement. Since they'd begun moving again, his little brother hadn't let five minutes go by without suggesting that the older boy really shouldn't be walking to begin with, a point that he seemed more inclined to push as Ed's strength began to flag.

And much as he hated to admit it, his reserves _were_ running low. Every step was an effort now, but despite the exhaustion that he could feel surging below the surface and the fact that their progress would probably be faster if he just conceded the point, this was an argument that Ed wasn't willing to lose. He'd spent the past seven years smiling hard enough to hide the pain so that his brother wouldn't worry- and whatever else his time in the mine had taken from him, he wasn't going to let it be this.

"You're wounded, brother," Alphonse said softly, plaintive, as he slowed to a stop- and beside him, Ed faltered before stilling as well, having little choice but to follow suit.

Carefully, he shifted his weight, determined to use the brief rest to give his good leg a chance to recover. It was beginning to cramp by now, and it ached horribly; he winced as he flexed it, trying to work some of the soreness out. "But it's _stupid_ for you to carry me when I can walk on my own."

The younger boy's eyes were on him, then, the concern in their depths reduced to naked pleading- precisely the sort of look that Edward had never been able to resist when they were younger. And Al _knew_ it, damn him.

"I know you _can_," Alphonse told him softly, and there was something wounded in the tone. It made the older boy shift uncomfortably, suddenly guilty that he'd caused it. "But just being able doesn't mean you have to."

Pale fingers sought Ed's face in the dim twilight, and the boy wondered briefly whether his brother intended the cautious, searching touch as a means to gauge his expression. Not for the first time, he found himself grateful for at least one aspect of the change: even in the rapidly fading grey of dusk, his own vision still allowed him to pick out Alphonse's features as clearly as though by daylight. The advantage wasn't one he minded, Ed considered absently, watching as the younger boy's brows knit together in concern, as his tongue darted out to wet his lips before continuing. It was fascinating to realize that, as close as they were, Al must only be able to make out a shadowed outline of his face.

"It's like you're trying to prove something," Alphonse began again, this time with the pleading in his eyes seeping down to touch the words. "But I don't understand, brother- you've done it already. We've come all this way." A thumb traced Ed's cheekbone, soft and searching. "Now let me _help_."

The words came like a blow, forcing the breath from his body, and in their wake, he was helpless to do anything but stare.

It may have been the ache behind the voice, or maybe the echoing sorrow that he could see cast deeply in his brother's eyes. Or perhaps, suggested a small voice in the back of his mind, it was because the way Alphonse was touching him evoked recollections of dreams that had been buried under almost two years of suffering. But suddenly, Ed was glad of the darkness- abruptly, fiercely grateful that the younger boy couldn't see the flush as it burned its way across his face.

"I guess," he conceded reluctantly, ducking his head to break the contact- and when he glanced up to see what response the words had won him, the force of Alphonse's smile was breathtaking.

* * *

Ed hissed in pain, bit his lip to keep silent.

Five seconds after, he gave up. "Ow- _fuck_, Al! Be _careful_!"

The boy kneeling in front of him glanced up with worried bronze eyes, hands stilling momentarily. "I'm sorry, brother. But I'm not sure…" Alphonse trailed off helplessly as he considered. "…maybe if we finish your bad leg first?"

"Fine," Ed grumbled, bracing his arm against his little brother's shoulders so that he wouldn't fall. He felt the tug of hands at the waist of his pants again, had time to think bitterly that, however often he'd imagined this moment, it had never gone quite like this.

And then Alphonse was trying to pull the fabric away from a wound whose blood had long since dried, and he stopped thinking again. "_Al_!"

"It's almost off," the younger boy soothed. "Just lift your leg a little higher."

Ed complied, though the limb trembled in response, and a moment later the tiny, tearing pains resumed in his thigh. "Would you just fucking rip it free already?"

"That would restart the bleeding, brother." Another series of tugs left him practically draped over Alphonse in an effort to remain upright. Another pause, and his brother's voice, regretful: "If your pants weren't leather, we could soak the fabric through and it would come free."

"Yeah," Ed muttered viciously, "I'm realizing that now. If someone had-" But the rest of what he'd meant to say was lost as Al resumed the efforts, words cut off by a renewed burst of pain.

And then there was a tear much sharper than the rest, and he yelped in response, half-limb jerking as he attempted to pull back. Wearily, Alphonse smiled up at him; there was a patch of fresh blood on the boy's right hand, but it was small. "There," his little brother reassured him. "One down."

Freeing his other leg from the pants took almost three times as long, and by the time Alphonse had managed it, Ed was dizzy from the pain, breath coming in quick, shallow hisses. He forgot to complain about the cold of the tile on the bathroom floor when his brother settled him to rest, forgot everything except the mental litany that he'd needed to cling to in order to remain conscious this long.

Almost, his mind repeated doggedly. Just a bit more.

Distantly, a part of him was grateful that Alphonse had insisted on carrying him, after all; he really _was_ exhausted at this point, felt the creeping arms of sleep threatening to steal around him if he gave up on the struggle to cling to waking.

Almost, he told himself firmly, and tried to ignore the temptation.

In the background, Al was drawing a bath; the water was like thunder in his ears, low and distant, and despite his efforts the sound of it had him drifting off by the time the touch on his bare thigh prompted him to open his eyes again.

Alphonse's gaze met his- gentle, probing, concerned- and Ed didn't even need to look at what he'd seen to know the answer to an unspoken question. "Naw," he managed, and dredged up a smile from the depths of somewhere, unsure whether it was particularly convincing. "They're not bruises."

And this time he watched, golden eyes intent, as Al explored the place where his skin began to mottle. The contact was light, searching; his brother's fingertips traced hesitantly along the change in pigmentation, and Ed had to suppress a shudder at the touch.

The marks began just above his hips, a light smattering of what looked to be particularly large freckles, and traced the outside line of both his legs- down to the ankle on one and to the automail port on the other. By the top of his thighs, they darkened to black, grew closer together- small and uneven, splotchy ovals roughly an inch in length, much too pronounced against skin pale with being so long hidden from the sun.

The first time he'd seen them, Edward had thought with an undertone of hysteria that they really didn't look as good on skin as fur- and the wave of gratitude that had struck him then had been so great that he'd doubled over, forehead pressed to the floor, and waited for the light-headed sensation to pass so that he could move again. Because at least, his mind had insisted feverishly, he didn't have the _fur_.

If Alphonse's thoughts followed the same line, it wasn't obvious in his expression; the smile he offered when he raised his eyes to meet Ed's again was kind, and encouraging, and tired.

"Come on, brother," he said, softly. "The bath water's done."

Edward tried to do it on his own.

He ordered his little brother from the room, announcing that he could fucking well _bathe_ himself, at least- but soon the effort had gone the way of his attempts to undress. And when Al called cautiously through the door, asking in a worried voice what the thud had been and whether he was alright, Ed swallowed the last of his pride and admitted that maybe the younger boy would have to help him, after all.

And so it was Al that lifted him carefully over the side of the tub, Al's arms that supported his weight and lowered him slowly. When the just-this-side-of-hot water got into the automail port on his leg and left him doubled over, shaking with the pain, it was Al's voice, soft and gentle, that kept him grounded through the hurt, told him that it would be alright if he could bear it just a bit more. And he did, even when the younger boy coaxed him quietly that they really ought to subject the arm port to the same- that they could wait to try and clean them really well, but that this, at least, was something that ought to be done.

When he discovered that a thumb alone wasn't enough for him to manipulate the soap, he'd knocked it away in a fit of frustration, cursing sharply and turning his head so that Alphonse wouldn't see the tears that spilled down his cheeks. His little brother didn't say a word- not about the outburst or the fact that he was crying again, helpless to stop it and furious over that, as well. He simply crossed the room to retrieve the bar of soap, lathered up a cloth, and urged Ed to lean forward so that he could begin washing his back.

And, humiliating as it was, it felt _good_.

Alphonse's touch was gentle, the motion soothing, and it had been a long, long time since he'd been so warm. Distantly, he wondered how badly he'd be embarrassing himself if his body was in any state to take an interest in sex- because even now, the pain in his old wounds had faded to a bearable ache, leaving the rest of him suffused with a content, lethargic sort of bliss.

He'd fallen into a doze by the time Al told him softly that they were almost done, the words dragging him from the brink of sleep as his brother lowered him gently backward. A moment later he was lifted again, hair dripping, and he felt fingers at his scalp as the younger boy began to wash.

This, too, was a steady motion, tender and cautious, a mix of massaging fingers and the careful attention paid to untangling the knots without causing pain. Ed couldn't quite stop the shaky sigh of pleasure that escaped him in response, the way he tilted his head instinctually into the touch. And when Al's hands stilled just briefly as he worked his way around to the side, the older boy made a quiet noise of protest, too drowsy to realize what had caused him to hesitate.

Ed drifted off completely after that, waking only once as Alphonse lifted him from the tub. He was aware of being wrapped in a large, soft towel, of mumbling an incoherent protest that he could do it himself, of a gentle, reproving voice telling him that it was alright, brother, go back to sleep.

By the time Al set him carefully in the room's shabby bed and pulled the covers up over him, he'd taken the advice.

end chapter 5--


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: I actually fought with myself over what I wanted to go in this chapter. On the one hand, I really wanted to do some plot advancement (there -is- one, I swear!), but on the other, I -really- wanted to write this scene. The scene won, as you can see.

Warnings: Elricest, language, angst, possible squick, sap.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 6

* * *

Alphonse closed the door behind him carefully, listening for the quiet click as it settled fully into place.

The room was as he'd left it; the glow of warm electric light spilled across the worn blankets of the little bed and its occupant, and Al felt a rush of relief as he stepped the rest of the way inside. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if his brother had woken to find him gone, had worried from the moment that he slipped out over whether it was such a good idea, after all.

But he hadn't been able to shake the image of his brother's naked body, of the too-sharp collarbone and painfully visible ribs, and so he'd only waited long enough to be sure that Ed was sleeping deeply before leaving to find him something to eat.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to be open in the early-morning hours, not in a town as small as Rush- and despite his efforts, he'd very nearly come back empty-handed. But when Alphonse returned to the inn just half an hour after he'd set out- through the front door, this time, not the wedged-open little back exit that he'd used to carry his brother through earlier- the innkeeper had stirred and mumbled a good morning at him from the place where he'd fallen asleep behind his desk.

Usually, imposing on people that he didn't know well fell at the very top of Alphonse's list of things to be avoided at all costs. But it was for his brother, the boy had told himself firmly, and approached the man.

He supposed that he should've realized the innkeep would remember him from last summer; after all, it was the only place to stay in a very small town, and he'd been quite conspicuous when he passed through, showing Ed's picture tirelessly as he asked after the older boy's whereabouts. But to say that he was surprised when the man interrupted him halfway through his awkward explanation would have been an understatement. "I suppose you found your brother, then," he'd said, tone warm with sympathy, and rose from the chair with a yawn. "What's the matter, son- he hurt?"

It had taken Alphonse a moment to recover enough to respond. "N-no. Well, yes- but mostly he's hungry. I didn't- he shouldn't wait, I think."

Now, armed with a mug of soup broth and the innkeep's advice- "Have him drink it slowly, now; if he's as bad as you say, gulping it'll just make him sick."- Al approached the room's bed, settling himself on the mattress beside his brother.

Almost as though drawn by the motion, a whimper crept from the sleeping boy, and Alphonse reached without thinking to reassure by touch, free hand stroking hair that was still slightly damp. It seemed to help; the lines smoothed from Ed's face and, after a moment, the tension faded from his body.

Carefully, Al repeated the motion, watching the reaction that the contact brought- and if he'd been entirely honest, he would have admitted that the touch was as cathartic for him as it was for his brother. Because despite the day's events, a small part of him still had trouble believing he'd actually _found_ Ed, that the boy nestled beneath the blankets wasn't perhaps the result of some elaborate and happy dream.

The feel of familiar golden hair under his fingertips, warm from the heat of Edward's body, did a good deal to lay those doubts to rest, though- and when his hand brushed inadvertently against one of his brother's ears, Al reflected with a tinge of sadness that if the dream were truly happy, the boy would never have been so badly hurt.

Despite the sharp edges of regret, however, Alphonse couldn't resist the urge to explore- and so he did, as cautiously as he was able, running a finger gently over the soft golden fur that dusted his brother's ear. It was wider, now, deeper and pointed- a dog's ear, perhaps, or a cat's, though none of the strays he'd brought home had ever had anything like the graceful black tufts that rose from the tips.

The thought of the look that his brother would give him if the smaller boy ever learned about that particular comparison brought the ghost of a smile to Alphonse's lips, and he leaned carefully over to peer at the face of the sleeping figure, half expecting to see that some instinct had caused the anticipated scowl.

Edward's features had been sharp before, but they were all hard lines now, and Al felt the smile fading before it had really taken root, eyes tracing the harsh angles of cheekbone and jaw that served as a startling reminder: his brother was far too thin to be healthy. Musings forgotten as worry flooded through him once more, he set the mug carefully down on the small stand beside the bed.

"Brother?" he said softly, and stroked his fingers through the boy's hair. There was no response this time- but, considering that Ed had barely been awake for most of the trip to town, that wasn't surprising. Normally, Alphonse wouldn't even consider waking his brother when he was so plainly exhausted- but this situation was, after all, a far cry from normal. And so he tried again, a hand finding Ed's shoulder tentatively. "Brother… I brought you some soup."

But the only response was a slight shift as the smaller boy nuzzled deeper into the pillow, quite profoundly unconscious.

Alphonse leaned in closer, the flat of his hand drifting from shoulder to ribcage. "Brother?"

Still nothing- and so he began working his fingers gently between the sheets and Ed's back, painstakingly careful, easing the still-sleeping form to lay half-cradled in his arms. "Brother… aren't you hungry?" The arm not currently supporting Ed reached to smooth a strand of gold away from the boy's face, lingered. "Come on, now… time to wake up."

It must have been the movement that woke him; Alphonse had pitched his voice no louder than before, after all. But his brother's eyes flickered open nonetheless, golden slits bleary, and for a moment he struggled for consciousness, hovering blankly in the space between sleep and waking.

Alphonse saw it the moment that Ed fought his way through the last layer of sleep- saw the change in his brother's eyes, and it scared him. There wasn't an expression of blind panic; the smaller boy had been sleeping too deeply for nightmares, it seemed. But fear might have been better, Al would think later, than the raw confusion that crept across Edward's features and the tiny crease that formed in his brow.

Because when he turned to face Alphonse, looking for all the world as though finding himself in his brother's arms was the last thing he'd expected, the second that recollection struck was painfully clear. He watched it dawn in Ed's eyes, watched them grow large with the memory, round and gold and expressive, and the relief and the hope and the _gratitude_ that flooded into that gaze was enough to make Al feel as though something had cut him.

He reached for the mug with an unsteady hand, brought it to his brother's lips. "Soup," he told the boy softly, encouraging- but when he offered a smile, it felt a bit shaky.

And then Ed took the first mouthful, and all he could do was watch, heart shattering.

Because of all the many, many things that Alphonse had seen in his life thus far, he could think of none that was more fundamentally _wrong_ than this. Nothing quite so unforgivable as the bliss that spread across his brother's face or the tiny noise of want that escaped his throat. Because Edward _deserved_ to be happy, certainly- ecstatically, unworriedly happy, every day for the rest of his life. But for him to be radiating utter content like this, for his eyes to be drifting closed and him to be crying again- over _soup broth_- was so unspeakable that for a moment Al couldn't breathe through the knot that tightened his throat.

And when he recalled the innkeep's advice a moment later, gently lifting the mug away from his brother's lips before he could finish, the half-arm raised instinctively to clutch at his hand as best it was able, trying to keep it in place. "Al-" the boy managed, voice shaking. His expression was one of alarm, and of pleading. "Wait- what're you-"

"It's alright, brother," he soothed, and reached to stroke Ed's hair again when the mug was safely set aside. "You can have more in a minute."

For the space of several heartbeats, he didn't think the assurance would be enough. And if his brother asked again, Alphonse knew, he wouldn't be able to refuse the desperation displayed so clearly in those stunning golden eyes.

But Ed had fallen silent- and a moment later, he offered up a weak grin, meeting the younger boy's eyes with an expression that was both determined and vulnerable. "Sorry. It's… been awhile, is all."

"I know," Alphonse said softly, heart aching. "I know, brother. I… I wish…" But the rest, he was startled to discover, wouldn't squeeze past the tightness that had closed his throat.

"Hey." There was something mildly reproving in that tone, and it drew Alphonse's gaze to the warm concern radiating from golden eyes, to the it's-not-so-bad-really smile that Ed had painted on. "It's alright _now_, though, isn't it?"

Too often. Ed had worn that expression too _often_- had been knocked over and hurt and staggered to his feet and pretended that nothing was wrong.

There were traces of their lives behind that smile- of a skinned knee, barely remembered, and brash assurances as the smaller boy limped home so that their mother could bandage the wound. Of a bullet that he hadn't blocked in time, a fourteen-year-old Edward hospitalized after the mission, that same expression on his face as he promised from the too-white sheets that he'd be fine after the surgery. Of the shaking exhaustion that he'd felt trembling in his brother's limbs as Ed had carried him home on That Day, too weak in his new body to walk on his own and marveling all the while to realize that he could feel the vibrations in his brother's chest as he reassured that the transmutation hadn't taken much out of him at all.

And then quite suddenly, the tightness in Alphonse's throat was giving way to tears- but he was smiling, too, because Winry had been right, she had been _right_- and as long as Ed was still living, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to make sure that one day, at least, his brother could smile like that without it being a lie.

"_No_," he managed, voice shaky with the tears. "S-stupid brother. How is this _alright_?" But he was reaching forward to pull Ed closer, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck.

When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper, lips close to the soft golden down of Edward's ear. "But it will be," he promised, and the words were fervent. "It _will_ be, brother."

And when Ed raised his arm to return the embrace, none of the hesitancy in the gesture that had been there before, Alphonse knew that he'd heard.

end part 6--


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Holy crap, this chapter kicked my ass. But then, I expected it to- before I started this fic, I actually considered beginning the whole thing at around the time that the flashback in this chapter kicks in, just because I couldn't think of a way to work it out without ending up with something ungainly and awful. So after about a -billion- edits and transition-changes and three scenes deleted and rewritten and deleted again… I give you chapter 7, the object lesson in why I don't have a beta: I could never torture another human being like that. -wry grin-

Thanks again very much to everyone who's been leaving comments, btw. You're all so good to me! -little hearts-

Warnings: Elricest, angst, sap, Bad Things happening to Ed, language, possible squick.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 7

* * *

He remembered little of the first day.

All that would remain later were snatches of recollections: waking blearily several times to Al's voice, low and insistent, and a cup pressed to his lips. Mumbling vague thanks, realizing that his throat must be so raw from the screaming he thought he'd kept to the dream. Hating himself for the look of shock in Alphonse's eyes when he'd knocked away the offered painkillers, demanded that the younger boy get them the fuck away.

The next morning, he felt guilty enough about that particular fit of temper to swallow another piece of his pride and explain awkwardly that he'd had _enough_ of being drugged- and his brother squeezed his shoulder gently in sympathy and let him leave it at that.

By the third day, he was awake for a long enough stretch of time to be bored- and Ed had realized, with a jolt of unpleasant awareness, that the last time he'd experienced this particular emotion had been on the long train ride to a mission that he'd never arrived to accomplish. He ignored the realization stubbornly, instead demanding that Alphonse entertain him- and soon the boredom was forgotten entirely, swept aside when the younger boy slipped from the room to return a few minutes later with a chess set.

Edward was delighted to realize that he could manipulate the pieces without help, crowed perhaps a bit too triumphantly when he won the first round. His little brother whomped him quite thoroughly in every subsequent game, but they played until he was tired enough that his moves had become ridiculously bad, anyway, only stopping when Al chastised him gently about needing his rest.

Alphonse cleaned his automail ports on the fourth day, and Ed changed his mind about the painkillers less than ten minutes after they'd begun.

By the time the younger boy announced that he was finished, the bedside table held two empty bottles of hydrogen peroxide and a small mountain of gauze, stained rust with dried blood and peppered by tiny bits of debris. Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Ed had lay sweating and shaking atop the covers as his brother stroked his hair, clinging to awareness just enough to insist, dazedly, that he didn't want a doctor- didn't want _anyone_ to see him like this, despite the younger boy's quiet urgings to the contrary.

It was an hour before Alphonse must have realized that the boy was too tightly wound to sleep, because he'd helped his brother stagger to the bathroom and drawn the water for a bath, letting the subject subside in favor of keeping Ed's mind from the pain. It had hurt at first, of course- badly enough that he'd clenched his teeth and hissed obscenities through them- but when that had faded to a bearable level, the combination of the painkillers with the hot water had been enough to lure his mind away from consciousness.

On the fifth day, Al had presented him with one of the books crammed into the travel-worn suitcase standing beside the door- and Ed had discovered, gratefully, that he could read it without help. That with a little effort, it wasn't terribly difficult to hold the book open with the flat of his arm while he used his thumb to turn the pages.

Halfway through the third chapter, his little brother had settled at the room's small table with a sheet of paper and a pen. "A letter to Winry," the boy had replied with a sunny smile when he wanted to know what was being written. "She was worried, brother- she'll want to know that you're okay."

And quite suddenly, Ed had recalled a sort of pain that he'd thought long forgotten.

* * *

He woke slowly, sleepily uncertain for a moment as to why, precisely, there were arms curled around him and the feel of a heartbeat not his own.

Awareness drifted in gradually not long after, coming with the worn cotton of the sheets and the moonlight streaming silver through the space beneath the curtains. And as realization dawned, just for a moment Ed imagined that it was another time: that they were far from here, and the body pressed against him was freshly restored.

They had lain like this then, every night for nearly a month after the change, just _being_ together. Al had needed the contact with an urgency that bordered on desperation those first few days, and later they'd both been loathe to abandon the habit. For a precious almost-week, life had been… not perfect, because Edward didn't believe that a world like this could ever truly perfect anything. But it had been close. As close as was allowed.

If it had lasted, Ed realized with a sudden, aching pang of regret, none of this would have happened. But it hadn't, and the truth was that he had no one to blame but himself.

Because he'd been young, and it had been years since he'd wondered, in passing, who he'd like to share his first kiss with, years since his mind had settled on an image of Alphonse, grey eyes warm and shining. And suddenly, the speculations that he'd entertained in the between time had become quite possible indeed- and the object of those thoughts had been sleeping pressed flush against him, night after night, oblivious.

He'd begun waking before dawn, trembling with the remnants of half-remembered dreams, to disentangle himself from the warmth of his brother's limbs and creep to the bathroom. He couldn't remember the number of times that he'd paused, holding his breath to listen for sounds of waking before he locked the door, couldn't begin to guess how often he'd bit his lip to keep from crying out as his hand found its way beneath the waistband of his pajamas.

And he'd been so sure, he recalled, that he couldn't tell the younger boy the truth- not when he'd already laden Al with the burden of relearning how a body works. It would be unfair to complicate things, greedy to want more.

So at last Ed had convinced himself that they both needed the time apart, had lied through the regret thick in his throat. He'd claimed that his leave had been cut short, that he was being recalled to Central.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Alphonse replied that they'd both be going- but somehow, it did.

The pair of them had bought a small house, a poorly-cared-for little shack of a place with a tiny patch of yard utterly overrun with weeds. Al had loved it, and Ed… well, Ed had loved the look in his brother's eyes when he saw it for the first time. So he'd spent most of the remainder of his salary for the year and a fair-sized chunk of his research funds on it, reassuring his brother that they'd turn one of the rooms into a lab so that he could justify the expense, if Mustang ever decided to pry.

And for a while, at least, the effort to make their new home livable had allowed him to overlook the fact that it was getting harder to keep quiet on the nights that he spent leaning up against the bathroom wall, tile cool beneath his bare thighs. And then, abruptly, Alphonse had solved the problem for him.

He wasn't sure where the request had come from, but by the hesitancy in the boy's eyes, it had been building for some time. Al was ready to try sleeping alone again, he'd admitted, smile small and embarrassed. He'd been worried that, if Ed was sent away on a mission, it would be difficult to adjust- wanted to try it now, when he could know that his brother was just a room over in case he really needed him.

And just like that, the situation had been diffused. Without the constant worry of close contact, he'd been granted peace of mind- and, though he was loathe to admit it, the Fullmetal Alchemist had fallen into the more sedentary lifestyle quite easily. At Al's prompting, he'd even gone so far as to request exemption from missions more than a day's travel from Central- and Mustang, in a rare, utterly inexplicable fit of kindness, had actually granted it.

They'd fallen into an easy sort of give and take; Ed got used to washing the dishes at night, and Alphonse gathered the discarded clothes from his brother's floor to do laundry when they'd run out of things to wear. It had reminded him of a time when they'd been more innocent- children in a house that seemed too large without their mother to share it. And every day that Ed came home to discover his brother had arrived before him, something inside had rejoiced at the warm glow of the light in the window.

For awhile, Edward had been happy- and even now, knowing what would follow, the ache that filled his chest wasn't fully sorrow. The memories were too good to be truly sad, even if they hadn't lasted.

Things had changed when Winry visited. Or, the boy considered bitterly, golden eyes tracing the lines of his brother's face in the dark of the inn room, nothing had changed at all, and he'd always been too blind to see it.

Ed wasn't sure when he'd first begun to notice that Alphonse was acting strangely, wasn't sure what, precisely, had struck him as odd. But his brother had been flustered, and distracted, and later the smaller boy wouldn't be able to recall what the had possessed him to ask in the first place.

He finally got an answer on the third try, words that had burned themselves into his brain and fused with the image of their delivery: a slow flush across pale cheeks, warm bronze eyes refusing to meet his gaze. "Y-you shouldn't worry about it, brother," the boy had said. "I just… I need to talk to Winry about something, is all."

He'd felt the first twinge of jealousy, then, hadn't quite been able to keep the edge of hurt from his voice as he'd replied: "Winry, huh? You're pretty wound up for just something like that- you gonna ask her on a date or something?"

And when Alphonse had ducked his head away, blushing harder, Ed's mind had answered the question for him.

The grin that followed had pained him, but he'd forced it anyway. "Well, you've got all day," he'd offered, tone meticulously casual. "Take her somewhere nice, alright?"

Al had made some token protest, of course- but the older boy had gathered up his jacket anyway, grinning all the while, and announced that he'd make himself scarce to give his brother an opportunity.

He hadn't known where he intended to go until he stood before the towering building, chest a roiling mess of hurt. He hadn't known why he'd come until he climbed the first flight of stairs. But by the time he flung open the door to Mustang's office and stormed in, eyes blazing, he'd known what he wanted to say.

"Send me somewhere," he'd demanded quite abruptly, and the newly-made Fuhrer hadn't even had the decency to look surprised.

"Oh?" was all the response he received- and all the prompting he'd needed.

"_Send_ me somewhere," the boy had insisted again. "I want something that'll take months to sort out, and I want it way the fuck away from Central."

For a long moment, Ed had thought the man would refuse. He'd never been good at sitting still under that calm, watchful grey gaze, and this particular stare had been positively dissecting. "Living arrangements not panning out?" the Fuhrer had asked at last, mildly, and opened a drawer in his desk to retrieve the necessary paperwork.

"Fuck you, Mustang," he'd hissed in response, aimlessly, irrationally furious. But he'd signed the sheets anyway, with a zeal that bordered on ferocity, and ignored the part of his mind demanding frantically that he ought to be worried about how _much_ the man knew.

Ed had paused as he walked out the door, glanced back with menacing golden eyes. "Mention this to Al," he'd promised, "And I'll beat the shit out of you when I get back."

Words had echoed after him, calm and vaguely amused: "Of course, Fullmetal."

He'd left the next morning on an early train. And until six days ago, the last time he'd seen his brother had been at the station platform, smiling and waving, Winry beside him.

Closing his eyes against the way the moonlight lit Alphonse's features- peaceful, and gentle, and lovely- Ed swallowed hard against the sting of regret and settled back down to sleep.

It was a long time in coming.

* * *

"Hey, Al." He didn't look up from the book spread open before him on the bed- didn't have to. He could feel the younger boy's eyes on him, concerned and watchful. Carefully, he forced himself to relax. "You're… going back soon, aren't you?"

"To Central?" He heard the rustle of fabric as Alphonse stood, footsteps as he came to settle himself beside the smaller boy on the bed. "I already told you, brother- I don't think we should go anywhere until you're a bit better."

"Not to Central." It wasn't working. This wasn't working. "To the mine." He let the book fall closed, lifted his gaze to search Alphonse's face.

Those bronze eyes widened just slightly before the surprise was swept away by compassion, and a hand settled on his back, rubbed soothingly. "I… have to, brother. Even if there _was_ a cave-in, it's better to be sure."

"I know," Ed answered softly- and he did. They'd been over this the day before- and logically at least, he understood why it was important, knew that _someone_ needed to do it. Not as though that made it any easier. "When you go, though- get me something?"

The surprise came again, a flicker across the boy's face before he agreed with no more hesitancy than that. "Of course, brother."

"There're books open on the floor of the library. And three in the lab." He held his breath, hoping that questions wouldn't follow- because if Al knew what he wanted them for, he suspected that his little brother might not be so cooperative. "Bring them?"

There was a pause at that, and Ed tried on a hopeful smile as the younger boy regarded him with a skeptical expression.

"…if that's what you want, brother," came the response and last, and Ed let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding.

The grin was real this time, and Edward had no way of knowing that the fierce, determined flash of teeth reminded Al uneasily of the days when his brother would charge into the impossible quite recklessly.

"It is," he assured, and turned back to his book.

end chapter 7--


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Notes: Ahhh. New chapter complete. And since I've been such a good girl, I shall reward myself with chapter 9. -wicked grin-

Warnings: Elricest. Angst. Sap. Bad Things happening to Ed. Language.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 8

* * *

The morning dawned bright and crisp, and Al was up to greet the sun.

Pulling himself from the warmth of his brother's body proved difficult, though- especially when Edward made a small noise in his sleep and snuggled in closer as he began to shift away- but ultimately, responsibility had raised its voice loudly enough to coax him from the bed.

He was uncharacteristically groggy as he stumbled over the freezing floor and toward the bathroom; Ed's sleep had been particularly riddled with nightmares the previous night, and Alphonse had stayed up with him, holding him and petting his hair, reassuring by touch in the way that the smaller boy seemed to need so badly. And when his brother had confided that he didn't _want_ to try and get to sleep again, they'd simply talked, neutral topics designed to lead thoughts away from whatever terrible dreams had been and gone.

It had been comfortable- cozy, even. But by the time Alphonse was peering blearily into his suitcase to fish out something to wear, he'd begun to wish quite fervently for a means of obtaining coffee that didn't involve leaving the sanctity of their room.

The boy was stumbling from the bathroom again, fully dressed and more aware for having washed his face with the frigid tap water, by the time he realized he was being watched.

At some point, his brother had awakened.

Half-lidded golden eyes tracked him idly as he crossed the room, Ed's lips curving slowly into a smile as he realized he'd been noticed. The covers were askew still in the spot where the younger boy had fought his way free of their seductive embrace, but Edward seemed unconcerned, for the moment, about the chill of the early morning air. It was a testament to the power of the sight that Al forgot to scold him for not keeping warm.

Because the blankets swooped nearly to Ed's waist on one side, exposing the too-long-from-the-sun pale of his brother's chest and the soft sheen of metal around the place where his arm should have been. The sharp angle of the boy's collarbone had softened with diligent care, alarming prominence of his ribs fading to something that spoke of a situation not quite so urgent. Even the deepest of the bruises that had marred the flesh of chest and stomach had lightened to a sickly green, and once-dire wounds had scabbed over, begun to heal.

Had Alphonse's mind managed to put a word to the sight before him, 'amazing' is what it would have picked.

But it couldn't seem to settle on a sentiment that language could express, and for an endless moment, all that the younger boy could manage was to wonder. Wonder at the fact that he'd forgotten this feeling- this rush of emotion, sharp and tight and utterly inappropriate. Alphonse was lost in the face of it, swept up in the fall of his brother's hair and in the soft fabric of borrowed pants that clung loosely to slender hips.

And then the word did come, echoed in his thoughts and left him with no choice but to agree: amazing.

Because his brother _was_- was brave and strong and brilliant and lovely and _amazing_. And the feeling that the boy evoked, that slow, deep affection mingled with a fluttery, hard-to-breathe jump in his heart- that feeling that he'd wanted so badly to try and explain nearly two years ago- was quite possibly, Al thought, the best feeling in the world.

When the corners of his mouth quirked up into a return smile, when it spread to touch bronze eyes and color his cheeks, the expression fairly glowed.

"Morning," Ed mumbled, shifting to stretch. "You're up early." Those stunning golden eyes stayed trained on him as he bent to retrieve the flashlight from the floor, and there was something cautious in the tone, as though testing unsure footing. It reminded the younger boy that there were more important things to consider than ill-timed confessions. "You going today?"

"I thought it'd be better to get it over with," Alphonse agreed, and knelt beside the suitcase. Unsnapping the clasp, he lifted it open, considering only briefly before he selected two books from within and set them on the floor. Two more followed, but they failed to join the first; instead, he returned them to the suitcase, settling the thick volumes over a sheaf of documents bound by a paperclip.

"Maybe," his brother conceded unwillingly, and Al snapped the suitcase shut and rose, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Everything will be fine." The younger boy crossed the length of the room in four steps, set the books carefully on the edge of the bedside table. "You'll see," he soothed, and absently pulled the covers up to protect Edward from the chill of the morning. "I'll be back this afternoon."

"Well." Golden eyes lifted to meet his gaze, full of challenge. "You'd better be careful."

"Don't worry, brother," Al answered gently. When he smiled again, it was with the pleasure of knowing that the concern in the smaller boy's eyes was for him. "I will be."

* * *

The lab was a crude affair, long metal tables sandwiched between walls of earth, the notes that lay spread across the surfaces coated with a thin sheen of grime. As he tracked the flashlight's beam slowly over the equipment, the beakers shone dully in the light, thick with filth. And a moment later, what he'd been searching for sprang into view: a half-melted stump of wax topped with a blackened nub of wick.

According to his brother, there was no electricity in the mine- either there hadn't been any to begin with or they'd shut it down when the mine was abandoned. In any case, the reason didn't much matter so much as the implication: he'd have to light the lab the way Ed's torturers had if he wanted to search the place thoroughly.

Alphonse crossed the room warily, flashlight tracking from side to side and back again, steps steady but cautious. In all probability, there was nothing to worry about here- not yet, at least. But there was a niggling doubt that had begun to insist it was very possible indeed, a doubt that he'd immediately decided against telling his brother.

Because, a small voice in the back of his mind had pointed out, the correspondences had been reaching Central with no more than a day's lag. The first had been received the morning after his brother failed to report for duty, and there had been one every day, consistently, for the next eight months.

But to reach the city from here, Alphonse had realized with a growing sense of unease, the train ride would be almost a day and a half, assuming that the transfer could be made smoothly. It would have been impossible for someone to get the status updates to Central and still manage to maintain the lab- to say nothing about the time that had so obviously been spent with his brother.

Which really left only one possibility. The man must have been in contact with someone in Central, someone who'd known enough about what was going on not to mind typing up accounts of torture. Someone who could make sure the correspondences arrived on time.

But presumably, Alphonse reassured himself as he reached to light the candle, they hadn't been in daily contact since the delivery of the notes had stopped. And hopefully- his brother was alone in town right now, the part of his mind that wouldn't stop worrying insisted, oh please hopefully- communication lapses like the one since the cave-in had become fairly common.

A second candle lent its light to the first, and the darkness of the room faded a bit more, served to remind Al of another problem still.

Because if the mine had no electricity, there was really only one way the boy could think to be in fast contact with Central. Quite simply, the man must've been able to either telegraph or call- and if not from the mine, Rush was the only other option. Which raised a whole new set of troubling questions.

Did that mean, Al couldn't help but wonder, that someone in town had been lying to him all along- been lying as he showed the picture of Ed grinning wildly and asked whether anyone had seen his brother? Or had the man concocted a believable story, convinced one of the townsfolk that he had a valid reason for needing to be in touch with Central on a daily basis? Or- and this was the one that made Alphonse cringe to think it- had he been a resident of Rush himself, owned his own phone, returned home at night and left Edward alone in the mine, hurt and bound and hungry?

Just the thought was enough to tense Alphonse's grip on the flashlight, bring his teeth tight closed against the mix of disgust and fury that rose up inside him. As he tipped the wick to another candle, this one yet unlit, it was anger that made his hand shake, and as the room crept a bit further from darkness, he cast a bronze gaze across the room to placate the emotion.

There it was. The place where the lab gave way to rubble, tables and beakers and low metal cages half-swallowed by the fallen dirt and rock.

It had been a rebound of some sort, his brother had said; prepared for an experiment himself, the boy had been lying drugged near the entryway, had watched without really understanding as the light changed color and the wall had cracked. By the time things had settled, more than half the lab was gone- and Ed's torturer with it.

The thought brought a flood of relief in its wake, overriding even anger as a new candle's light joined the others. Because as bad as things had been, Ed was lucky. Lucky that he hadn't been bound when the accident took place, lucky that he hadn't been in the collapsed section of the lab, lucky that the rebound hadn't taken the whole mine down.

Lucky that he was alive at least, Alphonse thought grimly, and set fire to the tip of the last candle.

* * *

It was late afternoon when he returned, arms full of several thick volumes and no closer to answers than he had been. The lab had been curiously devoid of personal information; the closest that Alphonse had uncovered were the man's alchemical notes, encoded fairly simplistically in the guise of a series of treatises on natural history.

In fact, Al admitted reluctantly as he twisted the key in the lock of their room's door, there was really only one thing that he'd managed to settle. With the presence of a large number of caged and presumably ill-tempered animals, it wasn't at all hard to imagine that their echoing cries had given birth to the ghost rumors that had drawn him to Rush for a second time. He'd yet to uncover who'd been among the group of children that had ventured into the old mine on a play-exploring expedition, but the boy fully intended to thank them if he ever did.

For now, though, he had more important things that required his attention. Namely, demanding that his brother explain what the _hell_ he'd been intending to do with notes on chimerical transmutation and anatomy.

"I'm back, brother," Alphonse announced, pushing the door open; the tone was just shy of reproving. "And I got those books for you." He set the flashlight down carefully, lay the books beside it.

There was no response though, and Al frowned just slightly, turning for the first time. "Brother?"

The bed was empty- and for the space of several seconds, Alphonse had to fight down the panic that welled up inside him, that dizzying, urgent voice that screamed what a bad idea it had been to leave the boy alone.

And then Ed answered, the sound shaky and thin, and bronze eyes followed the sound to find that his brother was crouched on the ground above his suitcase.

For a moment, the relief was so profound that he didn't realize. Didn't register the fact that there were tears running down his brother's face, slow and quiet, from fragile golden eyes. Didn't look down to see what lay spread before him.

"Al," his brother gasped then, and even before his mind had fully understood, he knew by the tone that something was terribly wrong. Alphonse was moving forward in the next heartbeat, was closing the distance between them in a few hurried steps, gathering the smaller boy close in a protective embrace.

"Shh," he murmured, tone low and reassuring. And when Edward responded to the touch with a desperation that he hadn't displayed since that first day in the mine shaft, burying his face in the crook of Al's neck and pressing nearer, the younger boy barely managed to keep the resulting alarm from his voice. "Everything's fine, brother. Shh. You're okay."

But bronze eyes were busy searching amid the scattered contents of his suitcase to see what, precisely, had upset the boy so badly- and a moment later, he got his answer.

_The Fullmetal Alchemist has been taken into custody_, it read, peering up at him from where his brother had left it. _A list of our demands is attached. To encourage cooperation, a daily status report._

In his arms, Ed made noise caught somewhere between a sob and a whimper- and quite suddenly, it was all Alphonse could do to close his eyes against the burning sting of tears.

end chapter 8--


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Kaltia, who taught me to be less pathetic on livejournal (and writes really amazingly awesome things) . Thank you so very much!

Also included in this section is the fulfillment of a request made by Hanganeno. Uhm. No, it's probably not what you expected, and -yes- it was in flashback, but… well. I did what I could. Sorry.

Warnings: Language. Angst. Sap. Possible squick. Torture! (I feel terrible for even -writing- this part…)

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 9

* * *

It had taken him the better part of a minute to work the clasp on the suitcase open, finally settling for wedging his thumb beneath the faded brass to lever it upward. And maybe it _had_ been awkward, Ed conceded as he began to pry at the one opposite. And probably, it'd looked pretty fucking strange. But the point was, he'd done it- and when the second gave under the pressure with a soft 'pop', the boy grinned manically to himself and pushed the lid of the case open to reveal its contents.

It was, Edward noted with a snort, disgustingly neat. But then, that shouldn't have surprised him- even when they'd been searching for the Stone and Al hadn't needed to bring anything along, it had been a habit of his to be sure that the smaller boy kept his possessions organized. Ed had lost count of the number of times he's been scolded- "If you don't fold your clothes, brother, they won't fit when you try to put them back"- and the thought that Alphonse would be forced to do it again when he returned was enough to turn the grin into something positively wicked.

For now, though, he concerned himself with what he'd set out to do- namely, finding something to entertain himself until his brother _did_ come back. And hopefully, keeping his mind from the nagging worry that hovered near the back of his thoughts, had been insisting ever since his brother left that something would go wrong. Because if afternoon came and went and Alphonse still hadn't returned… he wasn't sure _what_ he would do.

And so he pushed the thoughts from him again, instead turning a considering golden gaze over the spines of the books nestled within the battered old case. A thumb drifted briefly along one, pried it up with another soon to follow and worked them awkwardly out to flip through the first few pages. He'd read them both, he realized with a twinge of disappointment- the same problem that he'd encountered with the second of the books that Alphonse had left on the bedside table.

And so he reached for another volume instead, worked it carefully free- paused as a sheaf of papers fluttered to land atop the neatly folded clothes.

The words in the center of the front page were typed but fading, and Ed had to lean in so that he could read them.

He was reaching for the report with a shaking arm as soon as realization struck, knowing what he would see but unable to stop himself. The boy knew, too, the memories that lay waiting just below the surface, bits and pieces of nightmare recollections in between the fog of drugs- and as he scrabbled at the first page with what remained of his hand, he found that he was helpless to hold them back.

* * *

"Come now." The slender bar of metal connected with his back again, drove the air from his lungs as he attempted to draw in the breath for a scream. He choked instead, a guttural sound, wet and pained. "All you have to say is 'please'."

"_Fuck_ you," the boy hissed, golden eyes narrowed to tiny slits of hate- and then the bar fell again, left a stripe of glistening red in its wake, and Ed screamed hoarsely.

"Really," the man continued, tone reasonable. "Think about it. You don't want me to hurt you-" The rod whistled through the air, struck flesh again. "-and I want to be able to tell the Fuhrer that you begged." Another blow, and the blood was enough to begin running down the outsides of the boy's bare thighs. "Equivalent trade, isn't it?"

The man paused, waiting for an answer- and when none came, he brought the thin strip of metal down once more. "You could make this much easier on the both of us," he offered calmly. "After all, it's not like I enjoy beating you senseless."

Biting down the sound of pain that struggled to fight its way clear of his throat, Ed glared helplessly. "Could've fooled me," he hissed through clenched teeth- made as though to say more, but was interrupted as the next strike turned the word into a cry halfway.

"Oh?" And for the first time, the man circled around to the front of the bound figure, fixing him with a gaze that, while usually impartial, had grown distinctly annoyed. "Every day, I give up two hours so that I can come and hurt you. Two hours that I could otherwise be spending on my research."

This time, the metal came into contact with skin that was already bleeding, and Ed jerked in response, trying to twist out of the way. It was useless, he knew- his single hand was bound with a rope suspended from the support beam in the mine's ceiling, fingers pressed together in a fist and wrapped tight with fabric so that, even if he had something to write with, he wouldn't be able to hold it to draw an array. And after the first time he'd attempted to scratch a circle in the dirt floor with his heel, his captor has even taken to lifting him a bit higher than necessary, leaving his single leg shaking and exhausted with the effort of balancing his full weight on the edge of his toes.

But with the burning rush of hurt along the flat of his back, instinct insisted that he struggle whether it was fruitless or not- and as the metal broke flesh once again, he did as best he was able.

* * *

"Let's make a deal," the man offered, and Ed peered at him balefully from a single golden eye. The other had swollen shut almost an hour ago.

"Don't wan a deal," the boy mumbled, words indistinct as he attempted to form them around the pain of the gash that adorned his lower lip.

But the man was ignoring him, moving to crouch so that they were at eye-level; with his single wrist and ankle both fastened to the wall behind him, the position that Ed was kneeling in was awkward, shoulder and leg just beginning to cramp in protest.

Cool fingers sought the boy's chin, raised it so that golden eyes had nowhere to look but into unremarkable hazel.

"No, no- hear me out." One finger reached to wipe carefully at the stream of blood working its way down his chin. "I will leave you alone for the rest of today, and for all of tomorrow. I will tie you so that you can lie down to sleep." The thumb found its way to his forehead, stemmed the flow that trickled slowly from a shallow cut. "I will bring you half a loaf of bread on each day." There was a pause, expectant. "All you have to do is say 'please'."

For the first several seconds, Edward couldn't speak for the startling spike of want that rose up in response to the words. If the pain stopped, even for just two days- if he could have food to stop the endless, desperate ache that had taken up residence in his stomach…

But then he was scowling, one good eye narrowed. "Wha's your fuckin fetish with that word?"

"Well, if you'd like to be more thorough about it, you can." Abruptly, the hand left his face. "I just thought it would be easier to persuade you if I required a bit less."

"'m not gonna say it," the boy answered. "So why not jus _lie_ already?" The single golden eye was watchful, intent. "Tell em I did whatever you wan- more time for research if you just lemme lone, right?"

And for just a split second, the man seemed to consider it. Then he stood again, with a disappointed sigh. "I won't say it's not tempting," he admitted. "But it's about academic integrity, you understand. If my credibility is ruined, who will ever trust my work?"

Disbelief registered in the depths of the boy's eye; it grew wide with the revelation, naked horror creeping in around the edges. "_No_ one," he managed, fervent. "Cause you're a fuckin psychopath."

The man greeted the accusation with a calm but weary smile. "In that case." Long fingers searched amid a small set of equipment laid out on one of the lab tables, selected a slender knife. "Let's start again, shall we?"

* * *

"_Please_," Edward rasped as his torturer entered the room.

The man paused mid-step, expression plainly proclaiming the victory a pleasant surprise. "There, now. That wasn't so hard, was it?" And then he was moving forward again, smiling mildly in satisfaction.

Ed watched with a warring mix of shame and anticipation as he approached the object that had finally made it all too much: a smallish ceramic bowl filled with oatmeal, cruelly close and yet, bound as he was, out of reach. The man had lifted a spoonful to his lips the previous day, and he'd gulped it down, desperate - thick and sweet and still a little bit _warm_, the best thing he'd tasted in a long, long time. But when the familiar prompt had come, he'd managed to hiss an obscenity, had somehow dredged up the willpower to tell the man exactly where he could stick his fucking oatmeal.

And so the bowl had found a spot on the floor in front of him, plainly visible, and Ed had fought against the _smell_ of it for half the night, barely able to think beyond the clawing ache where his stomach had once been.

Edward was shaking by the time the man reached to take hold of the bowl, all his hours of debate and guilt and justification washed away with the force of need. By the time it was lifted to his lips, he didn't care whether Mustang would be stupid enough to cave in over one more added line, couldn't worry about whether his brother would read that he'd begged.

For the moment, there was food- and he made it be enough.

* * *

"I thought for sure that it would work," the man confided. There was disappointment in the tone, and in his eyes. He lifted the hammer again, let it fall; ignored the whimper of pain that it earned him. "I suppose the Fuhrer is a stubborn man, though."

Ed tried to breathe through the shooting agony lancing up his arm, closed his eyes against it. "You could just… give up. Let me go." His voice sounded distant to his own ears, and a little shaky.

"Don't be absurd." The hammer came down again, and the boy gave a pathetic half-cry, squirmed to get away. "We'll just have to get more creative." Careful fingers pulled away from the wounded area and sought out a new nail, set it firmly against the fleshy part of his thumb. The hammer rose again, hesitated. "Do remember to stay still, now. If you jerk like that, I can't guarantee that there won't be permanent damage."

Metal met the blunted end of pointed iron, and new blood ran; despite the warning, he moaned hoarsely and tugged at his arm, pain making him desperate. Again the hammer fell, and again- and when at last a new nail had settled itself into the block of wood laid out behind Ed's splayed hand, the man stopped to speak again.

"Unless," he prompted hopefully, "You know of someone who might be more open to negotiations. Family, perhaps. Or close friends. Anyone who could help persuade the Fuhrer to our cause."

The images rose unbidden in response: Winry's face, intent with her work, long hair pulled back in a tie and heedless of the machine oil that smeared her cheek and clothing. A brief, tense smile, too wrapped up in his arm to manage more, and words that had revealed concern for the pain she was causing: "Hang on… almost done, okay?" Al, newly restored, bronze eyes soft with wonder as they'd lain together that first night, smiling even as he fought tears. A careful, searching hand, wanting to touch his face for the first time in far too long. Whispered words: "Thank you, brother."

The two of them standing on the train platform in Central, the blue of the sky impossibly bright behind them, smiling and waving him off.

When the sound bubbled up from somewhere in the center of his chest, unsteady and a little bit hysterical, Edward wasn't sure whether he was laughing or crying.

* * *

"That," the man told him, "Was a very bad idea."

Ed flinched as the next blow fell, helpless to duck out of the way; he was lying bound and face up on the metal of a now-empty lab table, its previous contents shattered on the floor beneath them. And the expression in the man's eyes was _angry_.

"If you are going to try to use your automail to get away," he hissed, and brought the heavy steel arm to bear once more, driving the breath from Ed as the blow connected with his stomach, "That is fine."

"If you feel the need to _struggle_, that is fine." The metal of his own artificial fingers landed hard against his face, filled his mouth with blood.

"If you _cut_ me in the attempt, _that_ is fine." Ed closed his eyes, waited for the pain to follow- and when none came, he opened them again by degrees, cautious.

The man was leaning in close over him, those placid hazel eyes full of contained fury; blood still ran from the gash in his forehead to form a trail past his nose and drip from the tip of his chin.

"But if you _ruin_ part of my research in the process," the man ground out, each word distinct, "That is _not_."

Golden eyes shaded with anticipatory terror, the boy could only watch as he knelt and began gathering shattered pieces of glass- the remnants of beakers destroyed in the alchemical battle that his frantic attempt at escape had prompted.

He'd been too weakened from months of abuse to even approach his usual fighting prowess, and as the man straightened and lay the glass out on the table beside him, Ed's mind kept furiously insisting that if only he'd gotten this chance _sooner_, it could have been different.

And then careful fingers were selecting a piece of the destroyed lab equipment, were working the first shard into his arm port- and quite suddenly, thought fled in the face of mindless, crushing agony. The boy's body jerked against its bonds, a shriek that was barely human torn from his throat.

But patient hands were there to hold him down, and soon a second segment of the shattered beaker had joined the first. A third followed, and more after, inserted one after the next by steady fingers slicked with blood.

It wasn't until the man lifted the automail again that terror became strong enough to override pain.

"Please," the boy gasped, breath coming in sobs. "Please- please, don't-" But the man wasn't listening- was lining the limb up with Ed's arm port, and a desperate whine escaped him.

"I'm _sorry_," Ed cried, voice shaking with the intensity of the pain. "I'm _sorry_- Please- oh God, oh _please_-"

But if a god that Edward had never truly believed in was listening, it didn't prevent the metallic click as the automail slid into place, didn't do anything to stop the raw, unfathomable _hurt_ that crashed over his body in waves. The world was one place, and one place only: the gaping, screaming mass of nerves where his arm had been.

But only until the first sliver of glass was pressed into the socket on his leg.

* * *

The door clicked quietly open, but Edward didn't hear it.

He didn't hear anything until the familiar voice of his brother penetrated the screaming that echoed in his mind- wasn't aware of the room around him until golden eyes, wide and stunned, turned to stare up at the door.

His brother was there- was kneeling and setting down books and a flashlight, and for a moment, Ed couldn't recall why he'd come or where he'd been or anything but a tiny voice that whispered insidiously that this was all wrong. This was a dream, it told him quietly, as it had every time he'd struggled awake from nightmares to find himself in Alphonse's arms. This was too good; it couldn't be real.

"Al?" he asked, softly, and the voice didn't sound like his own.

Dazedly, Ed let his eyes fall to the papers that lay in the open suitcase before him. A heartbeat more and he lifted them again, was greeted with a startled bronze gaze.

"Al," he began again, and made as though to continue- but his throat was thick, and the rest of the words didn't seem willing to leave it.

The realization had barely occurred before, abruptly, speech didn't seem to matter anymore- because his brother had crossed the room, was there beside him, was _holding_ him. And for just that one moment, Ed forgot about everything but those gentle, loving arms.

end chapter 9--


	10. Chapter 10

Author's notes: Beware the rampant sap floating freely in this chapter; it's my apology to the characters for what happened in chapter 9.

On a random note, I'm really glad these scenes worked out. I kept thinking "I'd really like to do -this-," but for some reason they didn't seem to want to be written. So, I'm glad things turned out, in any case.

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 10

* * *

Later, Alphonse would remember little more than a vague impression of that time, a mixture of aching tenderness and the recollection of Ed shaking in his arms while he murmured soothing, nonsense noises into the soft down of his brother's ear. All he knew was that the shadows in the room had already shifted with the sun's progress by the time he felt confident enough to urge the smaller boy to stand and help him to the bed- and when Ed seemed disinclined to break the contact after they'd resettled, Alphonse didn't protest.

Nights of Ed waking plagued by the remnants of terrible dreams had taught him the most comfortable way to position them- and so he eased himself slowly backward against the headboard, drawing his brother to his chest. Al's hand, gentle along bare skin, wasn't immune to the tiny tremors that raced though the small frame, nor could he stop the spike of worry that had established itself in the center of his heart. But for the moment, the older boy seemed content to simply accept the embrace, nuzzling in closer when Alphonse lifted his free hand and began stroking loose strands of shining gold.

The trembling subsided by degrees, slow progress that forced Al to fight down a fresh wave of apprehension on more occasion than one; his thoughts were a whirl of emotions caught up wholly in the precious, too-hurt creature cradled against him. And then, unexpectedly, Edward's voice came, low and thick with tears: "Al?"

Those gentle fingers hesitated just a fraction of a second before resuming their steady, soothing rhythm. "Yes, brother?"

The boy's reply was a murmur against the skin of his collarbone, all warm breath and the quiet hum of vibration. "Love you."

Bronze eyes squeezed shut suddenly in the face of those words, beset by an unexpected sting of tears and an upwelling of warmth that left him dizzily, absurdly happy. His fingers left off stroking to settle on Ed's good shoulder, squeezed gently. "I love you too, brother."

It wasn't until much later, after the smaller boy had drifted off to sleep, that he dared to lean forward and press a kiss into warm golden hair.

* * *

"Brother," Al called, and reached back with his free hand to pull the door shut behind him. "It's time to get- oh! You're awake already."

And indeed the boy was. Lying sprawled on his stomach on top of the hopelessly tangled covers, Ed had spread a book out before him, looked as though he'd been there long enough to get comfortable.

"You're up early," Al commented mildly, but the pleasure showed through in his voice, and he flashed his brother a warm smile. Carefully, he toed off first one shoe and then the other before moving to the room's small table to set the results of his shopping expedition down.

"Yeah," Ed agreed with a grin in return, all tiny, jagged teeth. "It's kinda hard to sleep when your pillow wanders off."

Alphonse laughed softly, turned to see that golden eyes had begun to watch as he unpacked the food he'd purchased. "I'm sorry, brother," he offered, tone light. From the bag he pulled a shock of carrots and a little sack that bulged with potatoes. They would be soup tonight, if the innkeep let him borrow the stove again. "But if I waited for you to get up on your own, we'd never eat again."

He got a scowl as a response, and a moment later Ed was grumbling something and returning his attention to the book.

Al did his best to hide the smile as he lifted a loaf of thick, soft bread free from its confines. "You know, brother," he said a moment later, when it became clear that the older boy had no intention of replying to that particular comment, "I think there must be a local holiday coming up. Have you looked out the window?"

"Yeah," the boy conceded, glancing toward the open ties of the curtains. "Fuckin waste of streamers, if you ask me."

"They're hanging from every roof," Alphonse agreed, appreciative. "But I was thinking-" A jar of apple juice joined the rest of his purchases. "It might be nice for you to get out for a little bit. We could wrap a blanket around your shoulders."

Ed rolled his eyes, turned back to the page spread out before him. "Like hell," he snorted, and made a show of leaning forward to resume his reading.

"No, really," Al urged, and reached into the bag again- paused as he realized that there was only one item left. "Or even if you didn't want to see the town, we could get up for the sunrise some morning." Resolutely, his hands closed around the smooth glass of the bottle, lifted just as golden eyes raised once again to regard him.

"Oh, no," Ed said, voice thick with horror. "Oh, Al- how could you?"

"Don't be melodramatic, brother." The tone was firm, and Alphonse tightened his grip, advanced toward the bed.

The older boy abandoned his book in favor of scrambling backward, dangerously close to falling off the edge of the mattress. "Haven't I suffered enough?" he wailed piteously. And then, accusing: "I thought you said you _loved_ me, you traitor!"

"We're not going to argue about this," Al told him, exasperation evident, and knelt on the opposite side of the bed. "You need the nutrients. It's _good_ for you."

"It's _milk_," Ed hissed in response, eyeing the bottle with a look of wary misgiving. "The only thing it's good for is rinsing down the sink."

"Really, brother," Al sighed, and leaned forward to take Edward's arm. But as he moved closer, Ed went back- and the smaller boy really _had_ been too close to the edge of the bed, because golden eyes widened as the limb meant to support him came down on air.

"Fuck!" Ed yelped- and the noise that came from Alphonse wasn't coherent enough to be a word, because he was too busy lunging across the distance between them, catching the boy in a grip that must've been tight enough to hurt.

"Ow," Ed complained, and struggled his way back onto the bed with his brother's help.

"I know," Al agreed, wincing and reaching to remove the corner of the book from where it had settled sharply against his hip. "If you weren't so childish when it came to-" And then bronze eyes fell upon the title of the book, narrowed in remembered displeasure. "Oh, _that's_ right."

Ed lifted his gaze, startled, to see what had caused the change in tone- then ducked his head, guilty, when he realized the text that the younger boy was holding.

"Anatomy, brother?" Alphonse waved the volume for emphasis. "Chimerical _transmutation_, brother? What were you _thinking_?"

The tone, when Ed replied, was precariously near to sulking. "…I was gonna fix it."

And Alphonse had known. Of course he'd known- it had been obvious since he'd laid eyes on the small black and white sketches left open on the filthy floor of the library in that forsaken place. But the reply was a strong enough conformation, sudden enough, that he drew back with the force of the fury that welled up in response. "That's _impossible_, brother."

"Yeah, well, it's not like the lazy asshole even finished the job." Golden eyes drifted up to meet his gaze, fierce and defiant, and the grin that accompanied the expression was sharp. "And besides- I've done impossible things before."

"Brother." The shaking mix of horror and understanding at what might have been lost made the word thick. "You cannot transmute _yourself_. It is _impossible_. And even if-" He raised his voice to drown out the attempted protest. "-even if you managed, by some random fluke, to work out a way without being able to practice first, you were already _half dead_."

"I'd have managed," Ed insisted stubbornly, eyes rebellious.

Alphonse sucked a breath in through his teeth, let it out slowly. "Brother," he told the other boy, voice quiet. "You are the most amazing person I've ever met. You're brave and brilliant and I love you more than anything in this world."

He paused meaningfully, leaned in so that he was a few short inches away from the stunned expression spreading across Ed's face. "But you're also an absolute _idiot_. And when you get better, I'm going to _hit_ you until you get it through your _thick skull_ that if you ever, _ever_ think about doing something that stupid again-" But he couldn't make his mind decide on what, precisely, he would do, couldn't think for too long about a world without Ed in it, and so instead he blinked fiercely against tears and raised shining bronze eyes to meet startled gold.

"Al," his brother said- and the sound of his name, quiet and amazed, was enough to force a soft hiccup of a sob from the younger boy.

"_I'll_ do it," Alphonse demanded, and choked on the tears. "If it's that important, brother, _I'll_ do it." The first of them was sliding its way down his cheek now, hot and wet, but he didn't reach to wipe it away.

And when a hesitant thumb ghosted along the skin of his face, tracing the damp tract, he was too caught up in his brother's shaky smile to notice.

* * *

"Let me see the teeth again," Al said, and tried not to notice the flush of his brother's cheeks as the older boy opened his mouth to comply.

Were he not so caught up in the pages spread out before him, Alphonse thought uncomfortably, he might be tempted into considering other things. Things like what it would feel like to touch the little ridges of Ed's teeth with his tongue instead of his fingertips, his mind provided as a helpful example, or whether the boy would reach precisely that shade of crimson if he were to lean in and kiss him.

But that, Al thought, feeling his face grow hot as he removed his hand again, was something two years too late. And besides, he reminded himself firmly, he was supposed to be concentrating.

Which wasn't at all helped when, a moment later, he realized that he needed to examine the spots covering Ed's legs again.

"Are you sure, brother?" he asked to cover his embarrassment, willing his eyes not to stray too far up the pale, exposed skin of Edward's thighs. "I really can't tell, to be honest."

Ed cleared his throat, looked away. "I'm sure," he offered, shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny. "I got a look at it before it was. Y'know. In me."

"Oh." Bronze eyes settled on the pages in front of him once more, and Alphonse peered closely at the text beside meticulous black and white ink drawings. "So… an Iberian lynx." The gaze shifted to the other book. "And a lesser mouse-tailed bat."

The growl that came from his brother's throat was unexpected, and Al glanced up, startled, to see what the matter was.

"Who's so small," Ed demanded, "That he's not even a proper sized bat?"

And the question was so absurdly normal that it took Alphonse five minutes to stop laughing.

end chapter 10--


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Notes: And we have hit the countdown, folks. My goal is to get this wrapped up in two more chapters. -holds breath and dives in-

* * *

Aftermath- Chapter 11

* * *

There was the quiet click of the door as Alphonse let himself in, and Ed glanced up from the text before him for long enough to flash his brother a smile. "Find any?"

"Not as such," Al answered evasively, drifting into the room with a distracted air- and even before his brother approached to hover thoughtfully above him, Ed knew by the tone that something had changed.

"What would you think" Alphonse began, and the words sounded painstakingly casual to Ed's ears, "About leaving for Riesenburg tomorrow?"

The bed shifted its weight as the younger boy settled himself on the edge of the mattress, and golden eyes found their way to his brother's face. There was a slight crease in the brow, a tiny tug of worry that pulled down at Al's lips. "Why?" he asked slowly, and closed the book. "What's tomorrow?"

But Alphonse avoided meeting his gaze with a sense of purpose too great to be coincidence, finding a section of the quilt to consider instead. "Nothing- I just thought it would be a good idea," And when the boy shifted, awkward, Ed decided absently that he must be aware of the lie's transparency. "That way, you could finish resting up someplace you'll be more comfortable."

"Al," the older boy pointed out, "You _do_ realize you're not fooling anyone." And, because Ed was fairly certain of the fact, it wasn't really a question at all.

"Besides," Al pushed on resolutely, ignoring him, "I'd rather you see a doctor before I try and get you back to normal." Bronze eyes rose to meet the gaze that was studying him so intently, the emotions in their depth a curious blend of determination and shame and pleading. "That makes more sense, doesn't it?"

It was the expression that cut short what Ed had planned on saying; he closed his teeth on the words with an audible click, considered his brother's face once more. "What happened?" he asked, at last. And when guilt flared up to join the rest of the mix, Ed knew he'd guessed correctly.

"Why does something have to have happened?" the younger boy countered, and looked away again. He seemed to be studying the tips of his fingers now, where they lay against the fabric of his pants. "Why can't it just be an idea?"

"Because you're a terrible liar, Al." Carefully, Ed pushed himself into a sitting position with the remnants of his arm, unsettled by the slow creep of dread that his brother's actions had spurred within him. And when no answer came and the silence stretched too long, the boy opened his mouth to prompt again- but the sound of Al's voice, low and uncertain, cut him off.

"You've seen- the reports." His brother's eyes flickered to his face again, and there was worry now, thick and deep and startling.

The words were enough to dry his throat out, leave him stunned into silence for the space of several seconds. "Yeah," he managed at last, and cringed at how fragile the word sounded.

And Al must have thought so too, he considered bitterly, because a pale hand was closing over the top of what remained of his own, squeezing gently. "They came… every day," the boy said, softly.

And Ed knew. Of course he had. He'd known for nearly two years, had spent weeks thinking that the worst of it wasn't the torture at all but the knowledge that someplace else, someplace safe and calm and _normal_, people were reading about what was happening to him. He'd had nightmares that someday, those accounts would reach his brother- that the younger boy would understand in far, far too much detail exactly what had befallen him.

But bronze eyes were watching him, expectant, and Ed realized that an answer was anticipated. "I know," he said, simply, and forced down the rest of it.

"But brother…" And a second palm settled atop the first, enveloping his almost-hand in warmth. "…you said you only saw one person." The younger boy paused, meaningfully, to let that sink in. "And the reports came _every day_."

With the finality of a key clicking in the lock of a door that held back something horrific, he understood- heard, in a distant, vague sort of way, the whimper that escaped his lips.

Al's arms were there, then, around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace- and Ed leaned into it, shuddered against the terror that had settled out in his stomach and hated that he needed the contact so badly. For a little while, the younger boy didn't say anything at all- and when at last he spoke again, it was quiet, almost hesitant.

"There's more, brother," he offered, clearly uncertain. "Do you want to hear?"

The only response Ed managed was a nod that he was sure could be felt, pressed as he was against the warm column of the other boy's throat.

"I found out what the decorations are for," Alphonse admitted, slowly. "It's easy to dig up gossip in a small town." And for a fleeting moment, Ed wondered what, precisely, holiday streamers had to do with _anything_- but then his brother was pressing onward, and everything began to make the same terrible shade of sense.

"They're for a welcome back party," the boy told him softly. "One of the women in town has a daughter who's been away for six years, and she's just been discharged from the military." There was a pause as Alphonse took a breath, and then he was pushing onward. "She was expecting a promotion, kept writing home about it- but after the coup… well, her mother says she didn't take very well to the new government."

Ed turned the new information over, struggled for words. "That's…"

"A very interesting coincidence, maybe," Al conceded levelly, "But also not a chance that I'm willing to take."

It was a long moment before his mind had settled itself enough to sort through the conflicting feelings that fluttered past, sharp but elusive. "I'm not going to Riesenburg," he said at last. "Not yet."

"But, brother-" Al began, voice bright with worry, but got no further than that- because Ed was talking again, trying to get the rest out before it choked him.

"I _can't_ yet, Al. I can't- can't see _Winry_ or _Granny_, and have half an arm and pretend nothing's the matter." Those bronze eyes were startlingly near when he looked up, his brother's lips parted slightly with surprise at the vehemence behind the statement. "I didn't want anyone to- to _know_. And I don't think I can-"

But his brother was shushing him as though quieting a restless child, and a part of Ed bristled at the treatment even as the rest leaned into the touch of warm fingers threaded through his hair. It was a crime, the part of his mind that wasn't so alarmed murmured quietly, for such a simple touch to feel so good.

"I know, brother," Al was saying softly, and those fingertips were gentle, as soothing as the tone. "We could stay someplace else. We wouldn't have to see them- could go back home to Central, even."

And it was tempting. It was so, so very tempting- to leave the place that had caused him so much pain, to return to the little house that was the closest thing he'd had to home in a long, long time. To pretend that he might never have to set foot in a dimly-lit mine shaft again- that if he spent long enough getting used to it, he could even learn to live like this.

But his mind caught up with the direction his thoughts had taken, then, and Ed shuddered at the realization that he'd considered it. When he raised his eyes to meet his brother's again, they burned with golden fire. "I won't run away."

And evidently, Alphonse realized he must have said the wrong thing- because the younger boy was quick to reassure, words falling over each other in an effort to placate. "Of course not, brother- I just meant until you were well enough to come back. We could let the Fuhrer know where the lab was, let the military clean up the mess, and then-"

But Edward wasn't listening- and when he smiled, it was with the same slow, dangerous expression that had frightened anyone unfortunate enough to come up against him two years previous.

"Or," he drawled, and the smile grew wider- an unsettling baring of teeth. "We can change me back now."

* * *

It was dark- and really, that shouldn't have bothered him.

After all, the dirt of the walls and the heavy wooden beams that lined the ceiling were plenty clear, even without the skittering too-bright spot that the flashlight made on the ground. But the fact wasn't as much of a comfort as Ed would have liked, and he felt his thumb tighten in the fabric of Al's jacket of its own accord, the not-arm attempting to pull the younger boy just a bit closer.

"We don't have to do this now, brother," Al's voice said, softly.

"Yes," Ed ground out, and took another awkward step forward. "We do." Golden eyes lifted from the bottom of his makeshift leg for long enough to flicker up to his brother's face. "You promised," he insisted- and when Al fell silent again, it was with a look of anxious resignation.

For a time, there was silence again- and the dark. Which, Ed told himself stubbornly, shouldn't make any sort of difference. He could see _plenty_ well, after all, even without the flashlight.

But a quiet, devious little voice in his mind carried on insisting that a candle would come to pierce the blackness, and that pain would follow.

He just wouldn't look, Ed decided. Just wouldn't look, and they would be able to leave soon.

The boy had meant to help his brother check the arrays, of course. He'd planned to make himself useful before the transmutation, at least, even if Alphonse had strictly forbidden him from actually helping.

But there were, he'd been alarmed to discover, _things_ in the lab. Unpleasant things, wrapped far too tightly in memories he didn't wish to recall. And Ed didn't know how he'd missed them before, shuffling his awkward way through the mine without Al's presence, but likely, a part of him suspected, the reason lay somewhere in the fact that the first time, he'd simply been too hurt to care.

And so he waited, sitting up against the wall, and tried not to see them.

Because when he did, Ed noticed that _there_ was the spot where he had woken on the first day, groggy and uncertain, to realize that he couldn't even move his fingers- where he'd understood, with a sinking feeling of dread, that he wasn't going to be able to defend himself against whatever was likely to follow the first of many, many blows.

And _that_ was the table on top of which he'd discovered the agony of having glass shards picked from his ports with tweezers, the nearby alcohol unmoved since- and if he closed his eyes, he could feel it screaming along his nerves, burning away what was left of his self control.

He'd leaned into that wall, weak and retching, dizzy with pain- had pressed up against the cold, unforgiving bars of the last cage in the row and been grateful that he was so small- had writhed against the dirt of the floor when his pinky was folded backward with a meaty snap.

And then-

"Brother," Al was saying, and a worried face was before him. "I asked if you were ready."

Edward took a deep, shuddery breath- and then he nodded.

* * *

Any time, now.

His brother could begin at any time, and Ed couldn't help but fidget- couldn't quiet the little voice that kept wondering what would happen if he got it wrong.

But warm bronze eyes were watching him levelly from outside the transmutation circle, and Ed struggled not to let it show. Managed to pull a smile up from somewhere, and wondered whether Al could even see it.

"Brother," the younger boy said, as though in response, and Ed could see his throat bob as he swallowed. "Before we do this… I want to tell you something."

The laugh that forced itself from his throat was a sharp, unstable thing, and Ed was abruptly very glad that the accompanying expression must be half-faded in the darkness. "It can't wait?" he managed, and was proud of the fact that his voice sounded marginally normal.

"It's waited too long already," Al answered, softly- and then he was crawling forward into the array, and Ed's thoughts insisted distractedly that now they'd need to re-draw the outside edge again.

"Al?" he asked, dubious.

Those gentle eyes were close now, close enough that Ed knew he couldn't rely on the poor lighting to shield his expression from view. Hopefully, he thought fervently, the blush at least would be hidden - because the way his brother was _looking_ at him was enough to wash away the fear, to remind him of a time when he'd been well enough to want the younger boy with a fierce intensity.

And then Alphonse parted his lips to speak- but the only sound to ring out in the hollow darkness of the mine was a metallic one, sharp and sudden: the hammer of a gun.

end chapter 11--


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: -griiin- One chapter left! Next up: resolution for our boys!

-lots of love to everyone who's commented-

* * *

Aftermath: Chapter 12

* * *

"Hands where I can see them," said a woman's voice, and Alphonse half-turned on instinct alone, twisting to get a look at the source. But the command came a moment later, crackling through the air like lightning and stopping him cold: "Don't _move_," she instructed. "And if you try to draw a circle, I'll kill you both." 

For the space of several seconds, though, the threat didn't even process- because he was facing his brother, still, and even in the dim lighting, it was impossible to miss the stricken expression that had settled over the smaller boy's face.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Alphonse's thoughts insisted furiously, even as he lifted his hands. His brother was never supposed to have to go through this again- wasn't supposed to be _breathing_ like that, shallow and fast and terrified.

"Good," said the voice, and Al began scanning with his eyes for something- anything- that he could use to turn the tide. "Now, I'm going to pick up the flashlight. If you turn around- or lower your hands, or _twitch_ the wrong way- I shoot. Am I clear?"

Footsteps, then, coming closer, and the rustle of fabric as the woman presumably knelt to retrieve the light. The beam wavered, then- flickered to settle fully on the two of them, making the ground on either side of the brothers burningly bright.

If he wasn't sitting like this, Al thought desperately, he could have tried to scratch out a circle with his foot- but it was too obvious with him leaning forward on his knees, too easy for her to see. And Ed was tenser now, he noticed with alarm- actually cringing away from the dark silhouette of a figure that he must be able to discern.

"Excellent." There was satisfaction in that tone, and appreciation. "Listen carefully now, because I don't like to repeat myself." Another step, measured and light, and Al couldn't tell whether she was moving closer or further away. "Do you see that cage there?" And when he hesitated, uncertain of which: "The open one on the end."

The nod came cautiously, unsure what was expected, and it earned a low chuckle in response. "Put the chimera in."

He wasn't sure which came first- the heartbreaking little noise that wrested itself from Ed's throat, or the snarl of rage that came from his own. Regardless, he was halfway turned before the gun rang out, only his brother's harsh cry of terror snapping his attention back away from the monster that held both weapon and light.

There was no blood, his mind babbled in relief- no blood, and for a moment, that was all he could think.

"That's your only warning," came the voice again, unforgiving. "Now put him _in_."

Bronze eyes shifted with alarm to the trembling wreck that his brother had become, searched out the cage uncertainly. "He… he won't _fit_."

"He has before," the reply assured him smoothly. "Now _move_, and keep your hands in sight."

* * *

There had never been anything quite like the pain that had spiked through him when Ed began to cry. 

And it hurt more, perhaps, to know that his brother was trying so hard not to- to have seen the mortification mixed with the fear on Ed's features as the younger boy had coaxed him to hunch his shoulders and duck awkwardly into the cage. But there was nothing to be done, nothing that _could_ be done- not when a bullet would reach them before the glow of an alchemical reaction had even really begunAnd so, chest an aching mess of guilt- he'd promised that things would be _alright_ now, Al's thoughts whispered accusingly, that Ed wouldn't be _hurt_ anymore- the younger of the boys had pressed the door closed and heard the finality of the lock clicking into place.

Even now, he couldn't keep himself from glancing back toward the darkened corner where he knew his brother was; it was just visible in the glow of the candles that the woman had instructed him to light since, and he could see, vaguely, the movement as Ed shifted in the too-tight confines of the metal bars. Alphonse bit his lip, felt a familiar surge of worry well up inside- forced it down as he returned his eyes to the task in front of him.

"Well?" the voice demanded again, impatient. "What's taking so long?"

"There are a lot of papers here," he protested, and scanned through another sheet, eyes straining to catch words in the dim lighting.

From his brother's corner of the room, there was a leathery rustle- the sound that the boy's wing made, Al knew from experience- and a quiet noise that was dangerously close to a whimper. It scared him that Ed hadn't spoken since the cage door had clicked shut behind him- scared him more than he could say that the older boy wasn't shouting insults or offering brash threats.

But the woman was speaking again, voice sharp in the way that made him suspect she'd be waving the gun threateningly if he turned to look, and Alphonse didn't dare risk another glance away. "Not that many," she was snapping, words thrumming with impatience.

"It's too dark to see them properly," Al objected, and leaned in closer to peer at the page before him; he made a show of squinting. "If you let me have a candle-"

"And sit back while you scratch a circle in the wax?" An amused snort followed, and the boy's stomach sunk, uneasy, as his plan was pointed out so casually. "Hardly. Keep going."

And so he did- page after page, shuffling through the documents without really seeing them. His mind was scrabbling for something to hold onto, anything that could get them out of this- because they knew not only what had been happening, but that she'd been involved. And there was no way, Al understood instinctively- no _way_ that she could let them live, not without risking that they'd talk.

He found it some five minutes later, a document not so different than the others- and if Alphonse hadn't been so terrified for his brother's life, he might have wondered what was special about it.

Instead, he straightened, careful not to make another move. "I've got it."

The voice shook just slightly at the announcement, and it was impossible to tell whether it was from excitement or if the strain of the situation was finally beginning to take its toll. "Good. Set it on the table to your left and back off."

He'd taken two steps away from the flat metal of the surface before he got his first look at gun-wielder, caught himself thinking that she was small enough to wrestle to the ground without much trouble, if only he could get the weapon from her hand. If only he had something to write with. If only she wasn't so meticulously insistent that his hands be in view all the time.

"Further," she insisted. "In the center of the room, and keep your hands up. I don't want you touching anything." And he could see the outlines of an icy smile, then, a shadow-expression in the dim lighting, and felt the frustration threaten to choke him.

If only _something_.

It happened in the second that she turned away, back to the rest of the room as she lifted the paper and glanced to make sure it was, in fact, the one she needed.

The light came before the sound, a blue glow that told him without a fraction of a doubt why his brother had been so quiet. And then the crackling joined it, merged with the leaping, glowing strands that marked a transmutation- and by the time she whirled, gun in hand, to see what the sound was, the floor was rippling outward at a startling speed, racing along the earth and toward her feet.

Al was moving in the instant that it broke- barely had time for his mind to wonder whether Ed had meant for the spike to come up hard and fast enough to pierce the arm that had been holding the weapon. But their captor was crying out in agony, clutching the limb to herself; the flashlight hit the floor, spun, cast wild shadows dancing up against the walls; the gun flew up in an explosion of warm flesh, landed with an earthy thud on the dusty bottom of the mine shaft.

And Alphonse was there just seconds later, fingers groping desperately at the metal, closing over dirt and steel and the slickness of the woman's blood.

Pain exploded in his face as a boot connected with his jawbone, and he fell backward, reeling, even as a part of his mind screamed at him to _move_, that the pain would be _nothing_ compared to what would happen if he didn't get the gun.

Distantly, he recognized that blue light was making strange shadows on the wall again- but he was too busy to wonder what Ed was doing, too wrapped up in throwing himself full-force into the woman's legs as she knelt to retrieve the weapon. She went down with a yelp, twisting immediately to fight her way up again- but Al's fist met her stomach, hard, and she doubled over, wheezing.

His attempt to reach for the gun was met with an indignant shriek, and the woman launched herself bodily, latching onto him with the arm that wasn't destroyed and attempting to pull him _away_. It wouldn't have worked- not if his wrist hadn't been at precisely that angle, or if she hadn't been yanking with such mindless determination. But it was, and she was- and the woman may have been small, but she was _strong_.

Alphonse felt his wrist crack, giving under the pressure, and a hoarse cry of agony wrested itself from him as she went for the gun.

A hand that wasn't really a hand got there first, and in the dim lighting, his brother's eyes flashed a menacing, glowing green: an animal's eyes, in darkness. And then the half-arm was knocking the gun away- barely a yard, Al's mind thought frantically, it's not _enough_, brother, get it farther.

But then he saw- saw through the panic and the pain to the circle that had been scratched into the ground below the place where the gun now rested.

And Ed was bearing his teeth in a maniac grin, all tiny, jagged points, was pressing his not-quite-an-arm to the edge of the array.

A moment later, the weapon had gone, a seamless sheet of steel all that remained in place of it. And in the heartbeat that she hesitated, the unexpected change stealing her momentum, Alphonse closed the distance with his good hand, clutched the block of metal tight, and brought it to bear- against the woman's temple, and hard.

* * *

"Are you ready to try again, brother?" 

Hopefully, his mind added quietly, with no interruptions this time. Not that it was a likely possibility; the woman was unconscious still, secured with Ed's consent into one of the sets of shackles on the wall. With luck, she wouldn't wake until they were long gone.

"Yeah," his brother answered, voice only a little shaken. "C'mon, Al- get it over with already."

And quite suddenly, anxiety of a sort that had been washed away in the face of immediate danger returned full-force, reminded him that there had been something in particular that he wanted to do before the transmutation.

"Brother," he said, softly- and hesitated. But he had to get the rest out now, had to _say_ it, and before he could think to second-guess himself, the rest followed in a rush. "I love you."

And he lifted his gaze to Ed's face, visible now with the flicker of candle light, watched as the expression struggled to settle on a single emotion. Embarrassment flickered past first, and then pleasure, a warm glow of happiness that the smaller boy struggled visibly not to show- but it was exasperation that he finally settled on, making a show of rolling his eyes. "Love you too, you sap- now come on, before you drive me crazy here."

Alphonse didn't respond- just crawled forward as he had before, motion made awkward this time by the injured wrist. And when he reached to trace a trembling finger softly over the line of his brother's jaw, it was his off-hand that was responsible for the gentle touch.

"No," Al said slowly, and the tone drew those eyes to his, startled gold that flickered to green again at just the right angle. "I _love_ you, brother."

And before he could think about it, before he could stop to see whether understanding had dawned in that lovely, expressive face, Alphonse was leaning in to kiss lips that he'd dreamed about for far, far too long.

It was brief and chaste- a feather of a touch. And when he pulled back to find his brother's eyes wide and staring, an expression quite akin to shock printed clearly over his features, the boy felt the burn of shame along his cheeks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and ducked his head, feeling quite suddenly as though the world had grown fragile round him. Because if Ed spoke, it would break; words to match that expression would be enough to bring his reality crumbling down. "Let's- let's go ahead and get you fixed."

He'd already started backing away when his brother's voice reached him.

"Al," the smaller boy said, softly.

And when bronze eyes lifted uncertainly, it was to the sight of a pale thumb trailing slowly over the place where his lips had been. Ed's face was a war of emotions too complex for the younger boy to even begin to decipher- and he was, Alphonse realized quite suddenly, terrified to try. Because every doubt he'd ever harbored was screaming at him full-force, and even Winry's words of advice so long ago seemed worthless in the face of the blank shock painted across his brother's face.

"Al," the boy said again, and the word was tight, this time, as though with tears. Guilt flared up to join regret- because his brother had been through so _much_, and how could he have been selfish enough to make it _worse_?

Thoughts crowded near the surface, roiling with shame- and just as he'd begun to form a second apology, just as he opened his mouth to speak, a single word brought everything crashing down.

"_Again_," Ed demanded- and the boy really had been about to cry, Al noted vaguely, because he was fairly certain that it was a suppressed sob that made his brother's voice so thick.

But noplace in his mind seemed prepared to deal with the fact that his _brother_ wanted another _kiss_ from him- and so Al moved forward on instinct alone, closing the distance between them without the aid of coherent thought. The world had narrowed to this one moment, to the feel of Ed's chin as he reached out with his good hand to tip it upward, to the softness of those lips as he leaned forward to bring their mouths together.

It was different this time.

There was uncertainty for the first few seconds, that same shock that had dawned so bright and heavy in the wake of their last contact- and then Ed was making a noise that he could feel vibrating against his mouth, a strange, keening, _wanting_ sound that stole his breath away.

The smaller boy was pressing forward, then, all fumbling warmth and desperation- and when those lips parted against Al's own and their tongues came together, intimate and awkward, it was, Alphonse had time to think in a distant, wondering sort of way, perhaps the happiest he'd ever been.

* * *

"Yes," he said into the receiver of the phone, "General Hawkeye, please." 

On one of the overstuffed chairs in the main room of the inn, Ed sat flexing his fingers, one at a time, and watching them move.

"Yes, that's right," he said again- but his attention wasn't on the conversation, not really. It was fixed upon the pale digits that his brother was so fascinated with, caught up in the exhausted delight that the smaller boy was all but radiating.

"Oh, General." And when golden eyes rose to look askance, he offered a warm smile and nodded.

"Thank you for the time," Al offered, "I know you're busy." A pause. "Yes, that's right." The boy shifted the phone against his ear, waited a moment longer. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"If you could just let the Fuhrer know I've found my brother-" And he broke off, laughing, at the exclamation on the other end, waited a moment until it had passed. "It's a little town called Rush." Another pause. "Just have Intelligence take a look at the old mine nearby."

On the chair, Ed had gone back to examining his hand, but he was grinning now, unabashedly, teeth quite human behind the smile. "That's very kind of you, thanks. I understand- goodbye, General."

Alphonse didn't blame him.

end chapter 12--


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Notes: Here we are, folks... Fit the Last. There were about a dozen scenes left on the cutting room floor, but I do what I can, and I hope it turned out alright, in the end.

Thanks very much for everyone who left comments and in advance to anyone who will in the future. And to Silvertails: there's an underscore between the words Faulty and Wish, but deletes it when I upload documents. Hope you like- they really are fantastic fics. :)

* * *

Aftermath- Epilogue

* * *

_Five months later._

It was snowing outside, the sky a heavy, stormy grey that made the tiny flakes settling to the ground even whiter in comparison. It was the sort of weather that made Ed ache- a deep, nagging pain that threaded its way through every one of many old wounds, kept partially at bay only by steady, constant warmth.

Which was difficult to achieve, the boy reflected for what was far from the first time, considering that the gas had been shut off shortly after the electricity and plumbing, taking the heat when it went.

Not that it had proved any sort of surprise- after all, neither of them had held a job for the better part of two years, and most of what Alphonse had earned since they returned to Central had gone to pay for medical expenses. But knowing that it would come didn't stop the twinge of guilt every time Al went outside to haul in buckets of snow- dumped into the bathtub and heated with alchemy, it had been substituting for the water that the brothers couldn't pay for any longer.

It had been Ed, after all, who'd insisted they didn't need help from the Rockbells or that bastard Mustang, Ed whose pride had led to the frugal, independent life that they'd been managing. And that would change, perhaps, if ever it became a question of them going hungry- because his little brother still hovered protectively at mealtimes, still worried over the weight that hadn't yet been fully regained, and Ed suspected very much that there was a point at which Alphonse would simply put his foot down.

But they'd been getting along well enough, so far, the worst of their problems the bitter cold that had settled in with the snow. And Alphonse took care to keep the fire built up high so that he didn't ache too deeply, had even gone so far as to carry their blankets downstairs and deposit them in a pile in the center of the living room. Some nights, he would haul them back up to the bed before returning to help Ed make his awkward way to the second story- and some nights he'd declare it too cold for the two of them to leave the heat of the little fireplace.

It was one of the latter tonight, the chill deep enough that Ed hadn't even protested an arrangement that he knew was primarily to make him comfortable. And when Al drifted in from the kitchen, hands clasped around a pair of mugs that still steamed gently, he made room for the younger boy eagerly, grateful for the warmth.

"It's tea," Al warned him as the smaller boy lifted the cup one-handed to take a sip. "We're out of hot chocolate."

But whatever it was, it was warm, and Ed's first swallow was a huge one- a decision he regretted quite thoroughly a moment later.

By sheer force of will, the boy choked it down, regarded his brother with an expression that combined disgust and accusation. "You said it was _tea_!"

"It is," Al answered, drawing the covers up around them. "A different kind than usual, is all." And he took the first sip himself, offered a smile as though to prove that it wasn't utterly repulsive.

For several seconds, golden eyes watched the younger boy's face intently, outrage morphing into disbelief when the same disgust he'd experienced didn't become evident. "But it's _bitter_!"

"Well," Alphonse admitted, slightly apologetic, "We're out of sugar." The unspoken words hung between them: "And we can't afford more."

That spike of guilt intruded again, prompted Ed into taking another sip. And when it had settled into his stomach, distasteful as before but still blissfully almost-hot, he forced down a grimace. "I guess it's not so bad."

"Liar," his brother observed quietly- but there was fondness behind the accusation, and when he turned to look, the other boy's eyes were soft with affection.

"Yeah, well." The grin that worked its way onto his face was a mix of pleased and embarrassed. "It's drinkable." And he lifted the mug once more, golden eyes fixed on his brother's face as he took another sip.

He'd scarcely taken the cup from his lips before Alphonse was leaning in for a kiss- and the boy had time to consider, just for a split-second, that the tea was going to make a terrible mess.

He was right, of course. As soon as Ed opened his mouth for the tongue that slid teasingly along his lower lip, a drop of the liquid escaped to trickle down the edge of his chin. And when Al kissed him in earnest, slow and thorough and tasting as horribly bitter as the drink shared between then, it was only natural to try and pull the younger boy in closer.

But Ed's hand was closed around a thick white mug, and all it took was for him to tip it just a little too far.

"Brother!" Alphonse yelped, jerking back as the hot liquid scalded him.

"Fuck!" And abruptly, the cup was discarded on the floor just beyond the comfortable nest of blankets, ignored so that Ed's single hand could be put to use in attempting to sop up the spilled tea. "I _hate_ this," he muttered viciously, reminded abruptly of the dragging frustration that'd been plaguing him for months. "As soon as my new automail's installed, I swear I'll-"

"Brother," Al interrupted, and the tone was mildly reproving. He batted Ed's hand away almost absently before setting to work the buttons on his now-drenched shirt free of their holes. "You know you need to be patient. Winry can't get to work on you until after you've recovered from the surgery."

"Yeah?" Ed raised his chin, defiant, and wiped absently at the little trail of tea that had slipped by during the kiss. "Well, I still say I could've managed sooner- four months is a long fucking time to be a cripple."

The shirt fell open to reveal a pale chest, and slender fingers kept moving. "You were _hurt,_ brother." And that tone was serious now, bronze eyes intent in a way that made Ed feel both chastised and cherished by the same gaze. "And if the doctors say that you need four months- four years- four _decades_- before you're healed enough under the ports for new automail, then you're going to wait."

But the bite behind the words was lost on Edward as his brother's shirt came open the rest of the way, as pale hands bundled the fabric up and put it to one side. Golden eyes drifted quite unabashedly to the smooth expanse of skin that had been revealed, frustration at the spill effectively forgotten.

"Brother!" Al scolded. "Have you even been listening to me?"

"Maybe," the smaller boy offered, noncommittal. His gaze flickered up to his brother's face, and a grin not even slightly apologetic twitched at the corners of his lips. "Can I help it if you're distracting?"

And _that_ earned him a blush, a warm flush of dusky rose that worked its way across the pale skin of the younger boy's face. "It was _wet_," Al protested, "I wasn't about to keep it on."

"Am I complaining?" And he leaned in for another kiss- had to wrap one arm around his brother's neck to keep upright without a second limb to support him, had to throw his weight against Alphonse just so that he wasn't off-balance. But when bare arms settled about his waist to hold him in closer, Ed found that he really didn't mind.

It was the lack of air that forced them apart a moment later, left them panting softly, forehead to forehead, eyes burning.

"Brother," Al began, softly- but he didn't get further than that, because the smaller boy was kissing him again, heat and urgency poured into the contact in equal measures. Bare seconds more, and Ed felt whatever protest there had been fade away as fingers plucked at the hem of his shirt, slipped up and under the fabric, leaving trails of fire where they ghosted along his flesh.

He shivered under the touch in spite of himself, pressed in closer when gentle fingertips found his spine. It was difficult to think clearly beyond the searing intensity of the kiss, difficult to focus on much of anything but the want that grew, coiling, inside him- but when they broke apart again, he managed to put one thought, at least, in words: "Less clothes," he insisted, "Now."

Alphonse laughed quietly in response, and the smaller boy felt his face burn under the smile that accompanied it, amused and fond and wanting. "Anything you say, brother."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed grumbled, pushing himself away from the younger boy's chest with his sole arm, "Be smug about it." A moment later, he'd grasped the hem of his shirt and was pulling upward, squirming to aid the process, half dreading the cold that was sure to set in with the loss of clothing. It was awkward, but he'd had practice, and a moment later he was bare from the waist up, shirt sailing through the air to land in a careless heap someplace halfway across the room.

But by the time he'd accomplished that much, Al was setting his pants out by the tea-damp shirt- and before the smaller boy could get started on his own, before he could even think that the chill of the room wasn't so bad with the fire burning brightly nearby and the heat of his brother's body, Alphonse had leaned in once more.

The younger boy began at the junction of throat and jaw, lips working a line of slow, wet heat down his neck and to the collarbone. Ed shuddered under the attention, letting his head fall back as his brother used the hand still at the small of his back to lower him to the blankets.

And when he felt the weight of Al's body settle over him, Ed lifted his hips into the contact eagerly.

He wouldn't think until later about what, precisely, this ought to mean- wouldn't consider until he woke the next morning, warm and sleepy, that it had been the first time a part of his mind hadn't recoiled in terror at being pinned, despite the fact that it was only under the comfortable warmth of Al's body.

At the moment, Ed was lost in the feel of his brother's touch, mind too caught up in pleasure for nightmares of the past to intrude- and he would be grateful for that, too, the next morning.

* * *

**Additional Author's Notes**: Please be aware that this scene has been _edited_ to comply with rating policy. To read this chapter in its entirely, please visit Livejournal and search for username Asidian; you will be able to find the epilogue of Aftermath there in all its NC-17 glory. 

Or, carry on. :)

* * *

Everything was still save the crackle of the fire and the harsh, jagged sound of heavy breathing. 

"_Fuck_, Al," he managed, after a minute.

His brother was crawling up to lay beside him, then, pressing skin to skin and reaching out to pull him closer. And for a time, there was nothing more complex than the simple joy that came from feeling the slowing beat of Alphonse's heart.

By the time the younger boy spoke, he was drifting on the edge the edge of sleep- wasn't sure, in fact, whether the quiet words were from waking or a dream. But Ed mumbled a response anyway, a drowsy "Love you, too" that may or may not have been coherent enough to be understood.

And when he felt Al nuzzle in to press a kiss to the place where his shoulder met steel, the boy suspected that it didn't matter.

After all, his brother already knew.

owari--


	14. Epilogue

Author's Notes: I blame this on Tavella. All it took was the pointing out of a few inconsistencies in the epilogue of this fic, and I was compelled to fix them. What's more, I started feeling bad for having hacked off a scene at the end because I simply got tired of writing on the same project. So... here we go. The actual epilogue of Aftermath- the previous one is now officially chapter 13, as it had been originally intended.

Thank you for folks who helped me work out the kinks in this while I was incoherent and half asleep.

"We have come full circle, like a monkey on a merry-go-round." Enjoy.

* * *

Aftermath- Epilogue

* * *

Truth be told, he'd been expecting something of the sort for several months.

Not actively waiting, perhaps- but the possibility had lingered in the back of the Fuhrer's mind ever since he'd suggested that Armstrong ought to pay the brothers a visit.

And so when the commotion in the hall drew nearer his office unchecked, the man hid a smile that wasn't quite his usual smirk before pretending to turn his attention back to the paperwork he'd been ignoring for the previous hour.

And when the chaos that had descended upon the outside world finally reached the door and exploded inward, Roy calmly finished his sentence before glancing up to meet the eyes of the boy that he knew would be standing, enraged, in the doorway.

He wasn't expecting those eyes to be bronze.

"Alphonse-kun," the Fuhrer said, masking the moment of uncertainty under a surface calm. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Good afternoon, sir," the boy ground out in response. Behind him, the door swung slowly closed again. "It's funny you should mention surprises."

"Oh?" Roy quirked an eyebrow, made a show of setting down his pen and folding his hands before him.

And Alphonse seemed to take the prompt as an invitation, because he was stalking forward to place both hands flat on the wood of the Fuhrer's desk. The position reminded Roy of the last time the boy had been in his office, and he wondered, fleetingly, whether that was intentional.

"You see," the younger Elric told him, every word clipped and carefully chosen. "I got quite a nasty one this morning."

Ah. So that would be what this was all about.

Roy smiled evenly through the realization, though, expression tailored into one of polite confusion. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow you."

"When I found out that you're putting my brother back on duty," Alphonse insisted, the edge to the words biting. The Fuhrer had only ever seen the boy this angry once before, and it was a memory that he didn't like to dwell upon.

He was saved the difficulty of forming an appropriate response, however, when the door slammed open once more- and _there_ was the arrival he'd been expecting. Fullmetal, panting as though he'd run the whole way to the office, face flushed and hair slightly askew.

The boy was thinner than he ought to be, and there were lines in his face that hadn't existed two years ago- little reminders that brought to the surface, just for a moment, the icy spike of horror that had accompanied daily accounts of new torture. But Edward was well, and as whole as his automail had ever allowed, and far better than the Fuhrer had dared suppose.

Because Armstrong had informed him of the progress Fullmetal was making, certainly- but it was quite another thing to see the sheer vitality that the boy possessed, despite all he'd been through. To know that some things could not be crushed, even under the weight of abject cruelty.

Roy had seen enough people destroyed, after all, that he understood how precious it was to watch one heal.

"_Fuck_, Al," Edward was gasping, evidently unaware of the impact of his arrival. "What part of 'slow down' don't you understand?"

And then the famous Fullmetal Alchemist was relinquishing his hold on the door frame so that he could move to stand beside his brother, automail leg dragging in a limp that wouldn't have been noticeable, had Roy not known to look for it.

The younger boy's eyes showed just a flicker of concern before steeling over once more. "I told you to stay home, brother. You should have listened."

"And you shouldn't have gone running off like some psychopath the second you found out I was gonna start working again!" Edward drew himself up to his full- unimpressive- height and folded one flesh arm and one steel across his chest.

"For once, Alphonse-kun," Roy pointed out evenly, "Your brother is being the reasonable one."

Fullmetal actually growled at him, the sound low and threatening. "Don't give me 'reasonable', you asshole. This is your fucking fault." Golden eyes narrowed threateningly, corners of the boy's lips twisting down as he glared.

The smirk crept in by degrees- because Edward was right about this, well. It was very much his fault.

Was entirely by design that the brothers had been allowed to continue without aid for so long, and so too that help had arrived just as they'd truly begun to need it. "Are you trying to insinuate that my efforts went unappreciated?"

Alphonse made an interesting little choking noise, anger diffused as the blush that crept over his cheeks forced him to glance sharply away. "It's not to say that General Armstrong wasn't _helpful_…"

Fullmetal cut the boy off, scowl etched deep into his brow. "…it's just that the man has no fucking concept of privacy!" The steel hand removed itself from where it had settled, clenched into the parody of an impassioned gesture. "Brotherly love! Such strength and devotion! Seeing the bond between you stirs the very depths of my heart: every- goddammned- day!"

Idly, Roy contemplated whether Edward would match the shade of crimson that his brother had achieved, were he to point out how obvious the boy was being. "Surely," the man replied smoothly, making a conscious decision to set that particular opportunity aside for the future, "The General's presence wasn't the only thing to convince you that you ought to return."

And the Fuhrer knew the answer already, of course. Knew, from Armstrong's frequent reports, that the near-captivity was all but driving Edward insane by this point. That the boy had only needed a little push, really- part motivation and part good intention.

The smaller alchemist just snorted, rolled his eyes. "You say that like it's not reason enough."

"Brother!" Alphonse's voice was sharp with disapproval. "_That's_ why? You can't start taking missions again just because-"

"Now, Alphonse-kun," Roy cut in smoothly, and smiled his most winning smile. "You don't truly think so poorly of me, do you? Fullmetal will not, of course, be undertaking field work until he's fully recovered." There was something wary in those bronze eyes, and the Fuhrer pushed on to placate it. "He's agreed to take a desk job until you've both gotten settled again."

Charcoal eyes flickered between the expressions of the two boys, watched as the new information sparked indignation in the face of the younger.

"Oh, really?" Alphonse's tone transformed into something dangerous. "And when exactly were you planning on letting _me_ know this, brother?"

The smirk grew just shades wider, and Roy continued before the interruption could throw him too far from what he'd meant to say. "And of course, I'm prepared to let you accompany him when he does begin traveling."

"_What_?" Fullmetal demanded, looking very likely indeed to explode.

He met the expectation just seconds later, and Roy missed the soft knock at the door under the ensuing tirade. But when General Hawkeye let herself in, the tone she used was sharp enough to slice neatly through the outburst.

"Fuhrer," she said with a salute. "The meeting."

"Ah, yes." Rising hastily from the desk- it was a meeting he'd called, after all, and his General was showing considerable irritation at its having started twenty minutes ago without him- the man considered each of the brothers in turn. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm expected elsewhere."

"You _timed_ that!" Fullmetal fumed, turning on him. "That's _cheating_!"

"We'll have plenty of time to discuss this tomorrow," Roy replied smoothly, maneuvering neatly around the accusation. "When you come into work. You can sign for your back pay then, too." The man paused, seemed to consider- affected an expression of mild annoyance. "And really, Fullmetal, I ought to make you fill out the medical reimbursement forms, as well. Use a military treatment facility next time you need surgery, won't you? The paperwork's quite trying."

The words brought a play of emotions to the boy's face- surprise, indignation, gratitude- all bright and apparent in expressive gold eyes, flickering for dominance.

The smile grew just a touch wider. "Civilian clothes ought to be fine, by the way. I'm not sure you've grown enough to fit into a proper uniform."

With a lazy wave, the Fuhrer made for the open doorway, ignoring the strangled sound of fury that escaped the throat of the boy behind him.

In a single backward glance, he took in the expressions of both Elrics: the elder red-faced and sputtering, caught in a newly-dawning fit of rage, the younger tight-lipped and considering, plainly mistrustful.

Not quite the way it ought to be- but close enough, for now.

And the rest could wait.

owari--


End file.
